


Four-in-Hand

by Dhillarearen



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (as K finds out), Getting Together, Loving and Respecting Thea Muldani juice, Multi, Non Binary Kevin Day, Polyamory, Trans Character, Trans Male Jeremy Knox, general trigger warning for Ravens backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-26 07:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhillarearen/pseuds/Dhillarearen
Summary: Thea was watching him. “Do you and Jeremy want to date us?”What.(They’re at the US Court, but this is more than the usual teamwork.)





	1. Every Good Relationship Starts In A Place With Napkins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're kicking off! I'm so excited for this one, folks.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: a very gentle reference to misgendering and biphobia in Jeremy’s past.

It was a hot day, for this early in June. The kind that made passers-by perspire in their ill-fitting suits and meteorologists crack jokes about taking kids to the pool. Meteorologists were difficult for Jean, some days. The idea that some’s entire job could revolve around knowing what conditions were outside, and _predicting_ what they would be tomorrow, felt like an oversaturated fantasy. And people just _accepted it_. Complained about it, even. Sometimes Jean wanted to grab those people by the shoulders and shake them, shouting _don’t you understand, it’s all a lie! They’re tricking you! Open your eyes!_

He was glad for Jeremy, when that urge boiled hot and drowning in his throat. Jeremy would reach over and ease Jean’s fingers away from the remote, turn off the television and tuck his head into the crook of Jean’s neck in a tactile reminder of where Jean was, how many years had gone by. Even in the winter, he’d open the window and pull Jean towards it until Jean was dizzy with gulps of fresh air. Jeremy was too good to him, and it was irrational that Jean had been granted the right to call Jeremy, _his._ But Jeremy had chosen to be with Jean, and Jean respected Jeremy’s right to choose his own life. Even when, despite all of Jeremy’s protests and affirmations, Jean thought Jeremy would be happier somewhere else. 

A fork dug lightly into the back of Jean’s knuckles, just shy of hard enough to hurt. He shook himself away from the deprecating downturn of his thoughts (his therapist had been encouraging him to notice when that was happening, and stop it) and met Thea’s gaze across the table. Slowly, the clink and chatter of the other diners trickled in. At the next table over, a woman with a stiffly teased hairdo was gesticulating through a story about unhelpful customer service, shopping bags littered in a semicircle around her feet. The sour vinegar of table number six’s cabbage soup bit at Jean’s nostrils as the waiter hurried past with the tray. Jean pushed Thea’s fork away with his own and stuffed a bite of shaved bell pepper in his mouth. Decent, but wilting in the humidity. Perhaps they should have gone for the air-conditioned sushi place next door.

“I’m trying to have a conversation with _two_ sides,” Thea said. Her own Protein Lover’s Summer Salad was down to a few shreds of carrot in dressing, swimming forlornly at the bottom of her bowl. “You can’t take a nice girl out to lunch and then ignore her, Moreau.”  
  
“If I see a nice girl, I’ll keep it in mind,” said Jean. He dodged the second foray of Thea’s fork, but it had been half-hearted on her end, anyway. The two of them had discovered they had similar gym habits soon after he’d moved back to West Virginia—for Court, of course, and Jean had always known that was where he would end up (had been marked for it before he’d had a chance to think otherwise), but that didn’t quell the thrill in his chest whenever he thought about it. It was pride, honest pride, not for anyone’s sake but his own. Jean looked forward to getting used to the feeling.

Three times a week, at least, Jean and Thea met up for lunch at various tiny restaurants around the city. Thea was more familiar with the choices, having schmoozed around for Court fundraisers and functions, and enjoyed showing off. Jean enjoyed trying to come up with food requests that Thea couldn’t find a niche café to fulfill. So far, Jean’s success rate was about one in three. Thea did her research. Today’s selection was a vegan Polish-Mediterranean fusion, and Jean had to admit that he was impressed. 

“Unless the topic has changed from Wilds’ persistent car trouble, I’ll go back to staring at my beans. There are so many of them. I need to concentrate.”  
  
“Funny,” said Thea, deadpan. She laid her fork on the flattened rim of her bowl and took a sip of water. Jean could admire the finely-carved muscle of her forearm, the divot of it already collecting a sheen of sweat despite her post-workout shower. It was indicative of a woman who gave her sport both mind and body, and did not trip herself up with useless dithering. It was also, objectively, attractive. Spending his time around professional athletes granted Jean the privilege of having a number of acquaintances ( _friends,_ some of them, and wasn’t that a concept Jean had kicked and screamed at in the beginning) at the peak of physical condition. It helped that Jean knew all his teammates’ bruises came from playing Exy, now.

Thea was watching him with an expression bordering on amusement. Jean shrugged in apology and ate another bell pepper. “Yes?”  
  
“Do you and Jeremy want to date us?”

_What._ Jean inhaled a piece of lettuce and choked, jolting forward to slap a hand against the table, which wobbled dangerously. Eyes streaming, Jean blew his nose into a napkin and grimaced as the offending piece of lettuce worked its way up his throat and out via a series of sneezes. His nose still tickled when he regained control of his breath. Jean rubbed at it, irritated. “Ha. Hilarious.”

“We’re serious,” Thea said. She shot Jean’s snotty napkin a disgusted look, but didn’t comment as Jean folded it up and tucked it underneath his plate. “Kevin and I discussed adding you two to our relationship. He’s willing. You know how he is about Jeremy.”  
  
Did Jean ever. He doubted there was an astronaut in space who hadn’t spotted the firework-display-sized crush Kevin Day had on Jeremy Knox. Jean might have been jealous, if it weren’t so amusing to watch. And that he knew Kevin well enough to know he would sooner break his other hand than cheat on Thea.

Well. Almost. Nothing came before Exy. But the sentiment was there. As far as _this_ went, Kevin was not a threat. It was a strange idea to get used to, categorizing Kevin as anything other than a competitor. Was Jean going to have to rethink that, again?  


He didn’t like that thought. It had been one of the developments that Jean had no regrets about, these past few years. “Jeremy is not for sale. You can tell that to Kevin yourself. In fact, you can make a note if it for your own mind.” He pushed back his chair and made to stand.

“Jean, stop being dramatic. Sit back down. _Listen,_ ” Thea said. It was only for the sake of the relationship that they’d cultivated over the past months that Jean obeyed, though he crossed his arms and kept his chair where it was, two feet away from the table. It was blocking the aisle, but Jean didn’t care. 

“Talk.”  
  
“I knew you’d act like this. No, don’t stand up again. It’s not just Jeremy Kevin wants, Jean. It’s you as well. If I can believe what he says during sex.” Thea smirked, and a very confused throb of arousal worked its way past Jean’s anger to coil at the base of his spine. Jean gritted his teeth. Thea continued: “It _is_ more than that. We have talked over the issue at length. If it’s a no from either of you, then it’s a no, but _we_ are open to trying.”  
  
“Both of you? You’ve only mentioned Kevin.” Jean’s lips felt curiously numb. He pressed them together and bit the inside of his cheek.In the middle of his salad, two chickpeas rolled together like staring eyes, locking him under their scrutiny, reading the beat of his heart: _ta-DUM, ta-DUM, ta-DUM,_ too fast and too hard. Jean scowled and rattled the plate so they fell apart.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jean, but you’re a very attractive man,” said Thea. “As is Jeremy. The two of you are…” she paused, searching for a word. In all the time he’d known her, Jean didn’t think he’d ever seen Thea hesitate. Until now. “Dedicated,” she settled on. “I would like to get to know you both better.”

This was too much. To control the feeling of tumbling off a cliff, Jean employed a strategy his first therapist in California had taught him: he took a deep breath and mentally stepped back from the situation. From a safe distance he studied Thea’s face, the tension in her jaw. The tight clench of her hand around her water glass and the barely-noticeable jiggle of her shoulders that indicated she was tapping her foot beneath the table. She looked—Jean could think of no other word to explain it— _nervous._ Thea and Kevin had begun dating at Evermore, Jean remembered. It was possible that, for the first time in his life, Jean had more experience asking somebody out than the person he was with. 

_She’s Thea,_ he reminded himself. He knew things about Thea. He knew she tied ribbons in her braids beneath her helmet the day of a game, and that she had the highest save percentage of any backliner on the team, even Jean himself. He knew she hated bananas but ate them anyway for the potassium. He knew that, earlier that same morning, Thea had spotted Jean on the bench press.

Jean let himself consider it.

What would it be like, to date Jeremy and Thea and Kevin all together? He was used to waking up beside Jeremy, eating breakfast and dinner together, kissing Jeremy hello and Jeremy’s arms around his waist as Jeremy tried to waltz him around the living room. He knew what Kevin was like when he curled up reading, and transposed that thought into the armchair in his and Jeremy’s apartment. It was…a comfortable thought, when Jean prodded at it, though it had the hazy, gauze-wrapped edges of unreality. Surprisingly, Thea slotted into the picture with ease. She was sitting at the kitchen table, back straight and legs crossed like they were now, laughing at something Jeremy had said. Jean imagined Jeremy pulling her into the dance, the three of them holding hands, circling around to tease Kevin until he got too annoyed to ignore them and snapped shut his book. He imagined kissing them. 

“Think about it,” Thea said. Jean grunted and realized he’d been touching his mouth with the pads of his fingers. He dropped his hand to his lap.

“I’ll talk to Jeremy,” he said, before Thea could comment on it. “He’ll want us all to have a conversation, together and in person. Don’t promise Kevin anything.”  
  
“I would never,” said Thea. “If Jeremy’s interested, perhaps we could meet on Friday?”  
  
“Yes. I’ll keep in contact,” said Jean. He knew it sounded stilted as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take it back.

“You’d better,” said Thea. Her foot tapped for a few moments more, and then stopped. “Nobody else in this city makes a decent date for lunch.”

 

* * *

 

Jeremy’s reaction to what Thea was proposing was less violent than Jean’s, as per their usual. Still, it wasn’t exactly composed. “You’re sure?” Jeremy asked, scrambling from the floor to the couch. He’d missed, when Jean had told him the news. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” Jean said, and paused. “I might joke about this, if I thought it was funny, but I don’t, and I’m not. Thea was certain.”  
  
“Shit,” said Jeremy empathetically. He covered his face with his hands. He didn’t sound upset, so Jean remained silent as he sat beside Jeremy on the couch and rubbed his shoulder until Jeremy sagged against him. “Thanks. I think I need to process? Wow.”

“It wouldn’t be the first multiple relationship somebody on the team’s been involved in,” Jean pointed out. “Number twenty-five of the original Court, Peter Lee, married his two partners the year after he retired.”  
  
“I know. It’s just, _Thea Muldani_ and _Kevin Day,_ you know? You, it makes sense. But I’m just a dude from California.”

It was with a supreme effort of will that Jean managed to keep from snorting derisively. That Kevin and Jeremy could be such big fans of each other and not realize was bordering on preposterous now that they were on the same team. At least they could bond over their admiration of Thea. “I told her you’d want us all to talk about it.”  
  
“It’s like you know me,” Jeremy said, and finally smiled, though it wasn’t quite his usual ear-to-ear beamer. He kissed Jean gently and then dropped back under his arm. “I wouldn’t mind a discussion, at least. We can see how that goes. Fuck knows they’re both gorgeous.”  
  
“Mm,” said Jean in agreement. “I thought you were gay?” It had been the biggest reason he could think of to refuse Thea, on the way home, and had been disgusted with himself for not mentioning it until he realized he’d never actually _asked_ Jeremy if he liked anyone besides men. All of the hookups Jean had seen tug Jeremy into corners at parties, the year after he’d escaped the Ravens and spent all his time panicking about who and what he was supposed to be, now, had been men. As far as Jean could tell.

“Mostly,” Jeremy confirmed. He pressed his face into Jean’s shirt and breathed in. He did that a lot, especially after Jean showered, and Jean didn’t want to admit how cute he found it. “You know I liked being part of the GSA, the Pride Club, whatever? Before I started passing, if I dated a girl then people assumed we were lesbians, which felt awful. Then after I started passing, people saw me with all the rainbow flags and flyers, and assumed I was gay. It was nice having gay men attracted to me—dudes who were definitely, super, not into women—and they wouldn’t have been, as much, if I’d said I was bi, so.” He nuzzled deeper into Jean’s chest. “And then there was you, and it didn’t matter.”  
  
Jean could feel his face doing something foolish. He cleared his throat and lifted a hand to cup the back of Jeremy’s head. “So you’re not opposed to dating Thea?”  
  
“No,” said Jeremy. “Have you seen her? Oh my God. And she’s a fucking demon on the court. I used to have dreams about getting a shot past her.” He lifted his head up to meet Jean’s eyes. “I mean, I used to dream that about you. The first time I managed it—you probably don’t remember—“  
  
Jean did, because Riko had been furious. Jean hadn’t been able to put full weight on his left ankle for a week. Jeremy didn’t need to hear that, though, so he simply said, “I remember.”  
  
“I got so drunk that night,” said Jeremy dreamily. “Alvarez kept pouring me shots. It’s why I can’t look at lemon Bacardi without turning green.”

“That and because it’s shit rum.”  
  
“Alcohol snob,” teased Jeremy, swatting Jean on the hip. “Talk to me, you. How do you feel about Kevin and Thea?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jean. Before Jeremy, he hadn’t considered the possibility of a relationship that wasn’t a meaningless vehicle for sexual release, or some kind of dangerous statement against the master. He knew what he had with Jeremy was healthy—they’d both worked hard to build it that way—but Jean couldn’t claim to have much to compare it to. “As you said, they’re good-looking. I like spending time with them. I don’t want this to be a mistake.”  
  
“It sounds like you need to process, too,” said Jeremy. He propped his hands on Jean’s knees and kissed him again, slow and languid, not for any reason but the enjoyment of the kiss. Jean brushed his thumb over the patch of stubble under Jeremy’s ear that he always missed while shaving and kissed back. Whatever happened with Thea and Kevin, he didn’t want to lose this: the soft press of Jeremy’s mouth, the weight of his limbs, quieting the world around them so that it was the two of them, wrapped in each other, and nothing else could intrude. It was a safe feeling, Jean could acknowledge in his own mind if not out loud yet. It was the knowledge that he could take care of Jeremy, here, in this moment, and that Jeremy could, and would, take care of him.

 

Jean processed, over the days separating the unanticipated invitation and Friday. He processed while he forced his body through another set of split squats at the gym, uncomfortably aware of Thea behind him on the elliptical. He processed while he shopped for groceries (two athletes went through food at a clip that could have fed many small european countries), and when Kevin offered him an extra water bottle after practice. He didn’t process on the court—he had too much respect for that—but he did keep the back half of his mind working through the situation during Neil’s phone call about the Bobcats vs. Bulls game that had happened Wednesday. Neil’s scathing assessment of their number sixteen’s goalkeeping sparked an insuppressible flare of pride. Jean knew that Neil’s smart mouth was no credit of his, but he couldn’t help the lingering sense of responsibility, especially whenever Neil showed off his technical knowledge of Exy. The last minute of the call deteriorated into an update about King’s health—apparently she’d been sick on the rug—and complaints about his boyfriend’s refusal to take the cats to the vet that evening.

“Dump him,” said Jean, his usual Andrew-Minyard-related advice. Neil laughed and ignored him, _his_ usual response, and hung up with apologies based around the urgent need of soap and paper towels. Jean tapped the phone against his forehead after the call ended. Neil deserved somebody who cared more about his position, but at least Andrew played for a professional team. The Court’s starting dealer was dating a _librarian._ Honestly.

He was still processing when Friday evening rolled around, and the reservations at the upscale restaurant Thea had made were bearing down upon them. It was some consolation that Jeremy was as much a mess, if not more, than Jean. Jeremy tried to leave the house in cargo shorts, and then, when Jean sent him back, in the suit he wore for interviews. Finally Jean threw up his hands and dressed Jeremy himself, nice slacks and a sport coat that Jean had picked out for Jeremy the year before. The decorative pocket square was still connected via plastic tag to the front. 

“It’s not like we haven’t already seen each other mostly naked,” Jeremy complained, as Jean advanced upon him with the trousers. “Completely naked, if we’re talking Kevin. Besides, with you three in the room, nobody will be looking at _me_.”  
  
“Nice try,” said Jean.  
  
“Wasn’t it? Here, I’ll take the pants if you trade me a kiss.”

 

They arrived at the restaurant second, which Jean was grateful for. He wasn’t sure, in his present state, if waiting would have made him nervous or annoyed, but neither would have boded well for the impending discussion. Kevin waved at them from the table, saying something to Thea that made her turn and look. That Jean and Jeremy arrived, probably. Obviously. Beside him, Jean felt Jeremy tense.

“It’s just Kevin and Thea,” Jean murmured, placing a hand in the small of Jeremy’s back. Attempting to control Jeremy’s nerves was doing wonders for his own. “Like you said, we’ve seen each other naked.”  
  
“Also gasping in the middle of the court while Kamal yells at us,” said Jeremy, naming the louder of the two assistant coaches. He fidgeted with his cuffs. Jeremy had once told Jean that anything more structured than a t-shirt made him itch.

All evidence of discomfort faded away, however, as Jeremy led the way to the table, sunshine-bright grin firmly in place. Kevin blinked, and even Thea looked dazed. Jean considered offering the two of them a pair of sunglasses, and hid his own, smaller, smile behind his hand. 

“Hey,” said Jeremy easily. If Jean didn’t know him as well as he did, and hadn’t spent the past week watching him implode in on himself from anxiety, he would’ve thought Jeremy had dropped by from a relaxing stroll through the park. How Jeremy managed to be so warm and inviting with other people, despite the circles he was constantly running himself in, never ceased to amaze. It granted Jean a reprieve from figuring out how start the conversation, a fact he was grateful for. He pressed his hand briefly into Jeremy’s back in silent thanks as they took their seats.   
  
“How long did we keep you waiting?”  
  
“Fifteen minutes,” said Thea, shaking the wrist that held her watch. “Give or take. Don’t worry, I like to get places early.”  
  
Jean had seen her dressed up before. In the year they’d both been Ravens, of course, and for press functions once she’d made Court. He really shouldn’t be so taken with the high angle of her cheekbones, or the glimmer the chandelier dusted golden over her exposed collarbones. So she wouldn’t catch him staring, he turned instead to Kevin, which was a mistake. Kevin’s shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the shadow cast by his lapel deepened the hollow at the base of his throat. Jean was thrown into a vivid sense memory of the way it had tasted, all those years ago.

It was as if, having been given the suggestion, his brain had decided to set the world on fire. Jean shifted in his chair.

“So, elephant in the room,” Jeremy said, once they’d placed their orders with the soft-spoken waiter. “Jean told me the two of you had an idea? About us?” His voice was steady, as were his fingers on his water glass, but his other hand was wrinkling up the edge of the tablecloth. Jean reached over and laid his own hand over Jeremy’s, on Jeremy’s knee, and Jeremy turned his palm to grip back tightly. 

“That’s right,” said Kevin. He eyed his own water glass with some distrust, as if wishing it were wine, but took a long drink anyway. Thea touched the back of his wrist, so fleeting Jean nearly missed it. The effect it had on Kevin was more visible. It seemed to give him the courage to push forth. “We’ve noticed what good players you both are, I mean, we’ve known for a while, especially you, Jean, but Jeremy for a long time too.” Jean found himself embarrassed by Kevin’s floundering, but Jeremy graced Kevin with a shy smile, and Kevin latched on to it with a strong sense of Hail Mary.“We want to know if you two want to go out. As a couple. With us.”  
  
Jean dragged his eyes away from Jeremy(not the first time he’d been caught in the collateral from one of the patented Knox Grins), and tapped the table to draw the others’ attention. “What exactly would that mean?”  
  
“Dates, like this one,” said Thea, gesturing to the room. She had a ring on her thumb. It winked in the light. “We’d spend more time together off-court. There would be physical intimacy. If you’d be willing.”  
  
“Less business talk in future dates, I hope.” said Jeremy, skipping neatly over the _physical intimacy_ comment, though the back of his neck had turned red.

“Never,” mumbled Kevin. He caught Jeremy’s eye, and then, as if reacting to a sudden splash of water, the two of them laughed. A great rush of breath seemed to release over the table, and Jean found himself leaning forward, on the verge of stretching an arm out to shove Kevin in the center of the chest. He didn’t—this was a fine dining establishment—but the familiar urge made the atmosphere a great deal lighter. Thea smiled and tossed her head, but with less haughtiness than she might have earlier. The idea, never considered before, presented itself to Jean that Thea’s aloof manner was not entirely organic, that she cultivated it to keep people from reading her. It was a reasonable strategy. Jean liked this softer, more honest smile, as well. It felt as if he were being entrusted with a secret, to keep by his chest. Jeremy nudged his foot under the table.

“I’d be for trying that,” Jeremy said. “I think we’d have to figure it out as we go. But you’re both pretty amazing. Jean?”  
  
“I’m willing,” Jean said, watching Thea and Kevin react to Jeremy’s compliment. Kevin blushed, and Thea bit her lip, and Jean wanted very badly to offer them both his jacket, not because it was cold but because they looked like they might say _yes_ if he did. Thea raised her glass in a silent toast, clearly pleased, her gaze jumping between Kevin, Jeremy, and Jean as if she couldn’t make it stay in one spot but refused to look away. Kevin’s face split into a relieved smile.

“One thing, though,” said Jeremy, and Kevin’s smile dimmed. “I know you two know already—I don’t exactly hide it—but if either of you think that me being trans is some kind of kink for you, or some punch-card of experience, then this whole thing’s off the table.”Jean squeezed his hand, recognizing the set of Jeremy’s jaw and the hitch of his shoulders. He fixed Kevin and Thea with the blankest, steadiest look he could and scooted his chair an inch closer to Jeremy’s.

Thea scoffed and shook her head, earrings swinging. Kevin glanced at her and unfolded his arm in front of him, offering it to Jeremy, though it was too far to reach across the tablecloth. “That won’t be a problem,” he said quietly.

“Good,” said Jeremy. The hard note faded from his voice. “Then yeah, I repeat, I’m down.”  
  
“Perfect,” said Thea.  
  
“Can we talk about something else now,” said Kevin desperately.

“ _Thank_ you,” said Jeremy, louder than he should. Patrons at the neighboring tables turned to glare. Jean, feeling rather more protective than normal, glared back. “What the hell were those tire drills yesterday, I swear you could hear the creak of my knees in China when I got up this morning.”

“They’re tire drills because you get tired,” said Thea without changing her expression. “If you lean more forward over your toes—“  
  
“That gets my Achilles,” said Jeremy, rallying valiantly through a gaping mouth. “And they’re already angry at me because I haven’t—“  
  
“Been stretching properly, I’ve seen you—“  
  
“During practice? For shame, Day. Thea, tell me you’ve got—”

Jean himself felt like he’d been punched in the sternum but, oddly, in way that didn’t hurt. Had the weird comments Thea had occasionally made on the bench or on their lunch trips been _jokes_? Kevin hadn’t reacted at all, but humor often flew over his head, so it was possible. The discussion turned to a heated debate on center-of-mass, and Jean was drawn in quickly (Kevin what the _fuck_ , if you hold your racquet back that far you’ll _fall over_ ), but the thought stuck in the back of his mind, turning over and over the later it got. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Andrew, when Andrew makes Court, picking each other out as biggest contender for resident depressed edgy trauma bastard: who is this clown and why the fuck do Renee and Neil like him
> 
> Jean and Andrew, six months later, sitting beside each other at the bar and making unblinking eye contact with the exasperated bartender as they do back-to-back shots of top-shelf whiskey: “I hope this kills me before we have to do team photos tomorrow” “God, same”
> 
> (also: King is fine. She found and ate all of Neil’s hair ties and then barfed ‘em back up. No casualties except for the hair ties and a corner of the carpet.)


	2. Convertibles Are For Stargazing And For Having Existential Crises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: PTSD is triggered; past abuse is discussed; some dissociation

They scheduled another date.

When they got home, Jeremy let out a muffled, high-pitched scream and pulled Jean down for a searing kiss. They got sidetracked at the hall bookshelf; Jean pressed Jeremy’s hips flat against a collection Piers Anthony novels and worked him over with his tongue. Once Jeremy had finished praising Jean’s mouth to every god he knew he dropped to his knees, shoved a hand inside Jean’s underwear, and whispered, “I can’t wait until they get to see you like this,” right against the shell of his ear. Jean refused to be embarrassed by how quickly he came, after that.

* * *

 The Exy off-season was a constant trial. Jean appreciated the necessity of focused training, but he missed the electric immediacy of games, the futile determination in the other team’s attack, the howl of a striker as Jean slammed his racquet home and extinguished championship dreams with the burn of his arms. Let the offense have their goals, their walls lit up red. What mattered in Exy was breaking the morale of the other team, and there was no better way to do that than to stop them before they could even take a shot. It didn’t matter how many goals your own strikers made if the other team got through just as many. 

Jean was the wall and the mortar. Players tried to get past him and failed, and against him crushed themselves to dust, tears, dross. Scrimmages were well and fine, but when a game _meant_ something, that was the high that kept Jean coming back, a narcotic stronger than any FDA-prohibited drug. It was the stink of sweat and shoulder pads, the breath-ripped groan as Jean slammed a player down on their back. It was the blood on Jean’s teeth, bright copper, as he smiled.

Jean had regained his love of his sport with hands scarred deep to the bone, with odds that shouldn’t have been and with California sunshine. He would be dead before he let it go.

In the midst of his frustration at the endless drills Jean managed to forget that soon the Ravens, including the fresh recruits, would be arriving for summer training.Assistant Coach Kamal’s casual announcement following afternoon practice stole the pleasurable ache from Jean’s muscles and knotted them back up against his body. Jeremy shot him a concerned glance, because of course he’d noticed, and when they were released he led Jean to the car and seated him sideways on the back seat, his legs out the open door and Jeremy’s arm holding him up. It was a tight fit for the two of them in the space, but Jeremy didn’t complain.

“I’m going to text Kevin,” said Jeremy, stroking Jean’s sweaty hair off his forehead. Jean nodded jerkily and sagged against the seat. He focused on the asphalt of the parking lot, heat rolling off it in waves he could feel against the skin of his face. There was a crack splitting the surface between Jean’s feet. A pale fringe of grass poked up through it, browning in the West Virginia summer but stubbornly springing back as Jean scraped it with his shoe. He gripped the edge of the seat with shaking hands and breathed.

He had not understood what it was he had been sold to when he first had arrived at Evermore. How could he? The Moriyamas kept their secrets, and nobody expected a piece of furniture or a butcher’s block to demand explanations. What he had known, when the doors to Castle Evermore had opened wide for him the first time, was that it was the biggest court he had ever seen, and no matter what was done to him in this new life, he was going to play it. The thought of that same sentiment reflected on the faces of eighteen-year-olds with childhood’s softness still not melted away made his stomach turn to concrete.

Renee had asked him, when he’d signed to the Court, if returning to Evermore and practicing again only yards above the Nest would be worth it for the pain it would re-open. 

“I don’t have a choice. You know the deal Neil made for my future.”  
  
“I got you out once. I can get you out again, if you need it.” Her matter-of-fact confidence was reassuring. She might have been speaking of the color best suited for a throw pillow (she and Allison had been refurnishing their house. Allison had a lot more opinions than Renee did on the matter).

Jean blinked, very rapidly, and cradled the phone against his shoulder. Of all the things he’d gotten in his life that he didn’t deserve, Renee was one of the best. “I’ve wanted this since I was a small child. I want it even more, now. No memory is going to keep it from me.”  
  
When Renee spoke again her voice was rich with approval. “Good.”

It hadn’t been easy, but Jean had weathered it. He’d thought the worst was over. More fool him. He reached to twist cramping fingers in the front of his jersey and found someone else’s hand already there, steady over his heartbeat. Not Jeremy’s; Jeremy was still holding him, one hand on his waist, the other busy chafing his arm. Jean raised his head and Kevin’s eyes were inches away. He hadn’t heard him arrive, hadn’t felt Kevin touch his chest. He might’ve been numb from the neck down. It was difficult to tell.

“What was it?” Kevin asked. He was close, but his voice was far away. It scratched and skipped like the antique radio Jean’s mother used to listen to, before. _Ne me quitte pas, il faut oublier, tout peur s’oublier, qui s’enfuit déjà…_

“The new crop of Ravens, I think,” Jeremy said. 

Kevin swore. “I’m not the right person for this.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the one he has right now.” Kevin flinched at the harsh tone, and Jeremy stiffened. “Shit. Sorry. I’m going to stay right here, but I thought you could help him better than I could, right now?”

Kevin was silent. Jean wasn’tsure for how long, but it felt like a while. When he opened his mouth again, the words that come out were French. Jeremy had learned French, for Jean, so it wasn’t effective secrecy, but Kevin knew that. “The first time it really hit me, it was three days after I came back. I dove for a rebound and saw one of the skidmarks on the floor. By the twenty-five yard line? I remembered once, when he was beating me, I saw it and thought it looked like a tree squirrel. I laughed.”

Jean closed his eyes and let himself fall forward, just barely, enough to knock Kevin’s forehead against his own. He was starting to feel Jeremy and Kevin’s touch on the rest of his body. Radio-fuzzy, dull pressure only, but there. “Bet Riko didn’t like that.”  
  
“No, he didn’t,” Kevin confirmed. His breath puffed hot between them. “In the end Coach Kamal called nine-one-one on me. He said he thought I was dying of alcohol poisoning.”

“You were drinking water at dinner, with us and Thea.”

“Yes.”  
  
Jean opened his eyes and drew back further onto the seat. He missed Kevin’s closeness immediately. The feeling was coming back quickly into his limbs. He wished it wouldn’t, as his legs had pins and needles. “I’ll be okay now.”

“Thank you, Kevin,” said Jeremy softly. He lifted a tentative palm and laid it against Kevin’s cheek. Kevin leaned into it for a precious handful of breaths, brows tightening. Jean knew that type of greed, and he was sorry when Kevin squared his shoulders and got up to go. Jeremy’s fingers slipped from Kevin’s chess piece like a benediction, and Jean wanted to tell him _I know how that feels, to have someone so good find the seams where you’ve remade yourself, and to say,_ these are courage.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Kevin asked. He seemed fascinated by the hinge where the car door folded open. 

_Yes. I can handle it. I will earn the starting line._ “No,” said Jean, unsticking his throat. “The day after next?” He hated the uptick of the question. It betrayed weakness. Jeremy smiled at him, sad-eyed and pleased.Jean had to look away to swallow.

“Yeah,” said Kevin, in English. “I’ll, uh. Tell Thea.” He fiddled with something in his pockets for a moment and then abruptly turned and left, without a _good bye_ or a _see you later._ Not that Jean minded. They’d see each other on the court tomorrow, so why bother?

(“Politeness,” Jeremy had told him once, hip cocked to prop up a fist. This had been before they were dating, so Jean had been trapped in an agony of wanting to stare at the swell of Jeremy’s ass and knowing he shouldn’t. “Etiquette. Being nice to other people.”  
  
“Why would I want to do that?” Jean had replied, and counted it a victory when Jeremy laughed.)

 

They reheated pasta for dinner and ate it over the sink. Neither of them felt much like washing dishes. Jean felt too tight in his skin to think about going to bed, so after showering he sprawled across the sofa with a pen and paper to rework his schedule. He had decided to add weights to the bottom of his racquet for training, a technique used to add speed during gameplay, and needed to figure out a time for the extra practice. Jeremy staked a claim on the end cushion, unceremoniously drawing Jean’s head into his lap to play with his hair. He’d just flipped to a chintzy show claiming to offer proof of the existence of aliens when from somewhere in the apartment a default ringtone went off at full volume.

They both jumped, and frowned at each other. After a few seconds, Jeremy yelped and dug around in his pocket, jostling Jean so hard his glasses fell off.  
  
“Sorry,” said Jeremy, digging them out of the couch cushions and handing them back. “Somebody’s _calling_ me? _Thea?_ Why?”

“You could answer it and find out.”  
  
“Ooh, wise guy. Thea? What’s up?”

Jean reassumed his position on Jeremy’s lap once it seemed no further glasses-related casualties were likely and perked an ear for the subject of the call. Unfortunately Jeremy’s call volume wasn’t loud enough for him to hear Thea. 

“He’s here,” Jeremy said, raising his eyebrows at Jean. Jean shook his head—no, he didn’t want to be put on—and Jeremy continued. “He’s doing a lot better, yeah, thank you. Kevin told you he what? That sounds like Kevin.” Jeremy chuckled and resumed petting Jean’s head. Jean attempted not to arch into the touch like a purring cat, and only partially succeeded. “How is Kevin, by the way? I was worried about the way we left him. Mm. That’s good, then. He did? Oh, I mean, I didn’t—that was mostly Kevin. Ha! Thank you!” Through Jean’s eyelashes, he could see Jeremy was blushing. “Mhm. Yeah. See you then!I’m looking forward to it too. Bye.” Jean heard the call disconnect, and Jeremy took the phone away from his ear and stared at it, his lips pursed.

Jean poked him with his pen. “Anybody dead?”  
  
“They’re all right,” said Jeremy, still puzzling over his blank phone screen as if it were hiding the answer to a lifelong question. “She said Kevin’s quiet, but he’s not pacing or pulling things off shelves, so it’s not bad. She…” Jeremy bit his lip and tapped the phone against his chin. “She never seems…as affected by the Ravens as you or Kevin? I’m not blaming you, shit, don’t get me wrong. I just wanted to ask, do you have any idea why?”

_This_ question. Well, Jean thought, it was about time. Jeremy had spent nearly an entire year on the same team as Thea, and even if he weren’t determined to make friends with everyone he met, he would have realized that something was different between her and Kevin and Jean. 

“Thea had a choice, coming into the Nest,” said Jean, choosing his words carefully. “That makes a lot of difference. And nobody had it as bad as Kevin or I did. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think a lot of what…of what he did to us, he hid. Not all of it, obviously, but Riko was a master of manipulation. He could make you think of things in a way that made it seem what he was doing was for the good of the team.” Jean clenched his fists. Jeremy took the pen from him and offered his own hand to squeeze, instead. “Also, Thea started as a Raven before Riko was an official part of the team. He was around, like Kevin and I were, but…from the things she’s said…it was always a hell sentence, for five years. Everyone who signs with the Ravens knows that. Thea only makes me wonder how much worse it was, under Riko.”

“Hm. That makes sense.” Jeremy set the phone on the arm of the sofa and pulled Jean up so he could loop his arms around Jean’s waist. The contact was grounding. Jean was grateful. “I still want to punch every one of your former teammates and the Moriyamas in the face, but it makes sense.”  
  
A five-foot-seven self-proclaimed beach jock was no match for the Japanese yakuza, but the sentiment washed warm over Jean’s body. “Please don’t do that. I have enough to deal with trying to talk Neil out of starting an international war every other day.”

“What was it he said to that reporter? ‘I feel sorry for his mother, what must it be like to have given birth to someone with footwork that slow?’”

“Spencer’s footwork is pathetic. Colorado should never have signed him.” Jean stifled a yawn in Jeremy’s forearm while Jeremy mumbled a halfhearted reproach, which was as close as he would come to agreeing. “Bed?”  
  
“Bed,” said Jeremy with authority. He squinted at Jean’s schedule. “Especially if you’re really getting up tomorrow at four AM.”

Jean groaned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison: I’m thinking about chenille for the couch but the problem is the dogs will get all over it, but if we do leather than I’ll have to change the stain for the cabinets and I like the one we have now so which one do you think is better
> 
> Renee: whatever makes you happy, honey
> 
> Allison: dammit Renee
> 
>  
> 
> (The song Jean remembers his mother listening to is [ Ne Me Quitte Pas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7zgNye6HTE) by Jacques Brel. The title translates to “Don’t Leave Me.”)


	3. INTERLUDE: THEA

These boys were trouble.

Thea heard her mother’s voice in her head as she ended the call with Jeremy, telling her that _all_ boys were trouble, even the good ones.

“Even me?” her father had asked, his kind face creasing into a smile.

“Especially you,” her mother had said fondly, reaching over to pat his hand. “If you hadn’t married me, I’d still be in sunny Florida, with none of these northern winters. ‘Dora, pass your father the string beans?”

In the present, Thea closed the novel she hadn’t been reading and set it on the table beside her. Her mother had given her the novel for her birthday, and she still hadn’t finished it. It was a little _purple_ for her tastes, but Thea was determined to have it read so she could thank her mother properly. She stood and dug her knuckles into the base of her spine. “Kevin, I’m heading out to the studio.”  
  
“Sure,” said Kevin absentmindedly, from the other recliner. He was absorbed in a dictionary-sized tome about the Argentine Civil Wars. He lifted his face up for a kiss as Thea passed. “Battle of Caaguazú,” he told her, lifting the book. “Swamps are a bad idea.”

Kevin tended to forget that not everyone was as up-to-date on out-of-date information as he was. It was endearing. Thea gave him another kiss and collected her purse from the peg by the door.

Judging the temperature outside habitable now that it was late into the evening, Thea opted to walk instead of hiring at taxi. She needed the time to re-order her thoughts. It was a tetchy feeling, disordered thoughts. Thea liked her thoughts and emotions carefully laminated, tucked in folders and organized in drawers, to pull out or discard as needed. The hum of the city would provide enough background noise to keep her mind from straying; under the soles of her shoes, the sidewalk made a satisfying rhythm of slaps. She needed to take Jean Moreau and Jeremy Knox out of the “possible friends” box and move them to the “romantic partners” box, and that would require a lot of cross-referencing.

She enjoyed spending time with both Jeremy and Jean, and did it not infrequently, but how well did she know these men, really? They were on the same court, but that meant little and less the more years that passed between her and college graduation. There were members of the Court that had been there since Thea had signed, yet Thea had fixed on these two. Was it Kevin’s relationship with them? That could not be enough. Kevin was different now, than he had been. More aware of himself, and more in control, and happier. Thea was glad to be around to see it. To be a part of it.

The pottery studio Thea frequented was in the basement of a dilapidated building that had once housed a theater. Remains of gilt paint and dusty velvet hangings covered the windows. The outside was done up in a faux-Hellenistic style, with columns featuring some goddess or other wrapped in weather-smeared wings. The goddess closest to the door was modeling a bird’s nest in the hem of her toga. Thea wondered if the office workers in the business firm above fed the birds with scraps from their lunches.

Ravens had their own network of alumni, stretching far and wide across the US and even, in some cases, overseas. When Thea graduated she was assigned a contact and mentor for the next year. Common procedure, she was told, for re-integrating Ravens into society after they left the Nest. Thea hadn’t needed her mentor, a woman three years her senior named Rachel, but she’d taken her advice anyway.

“Find something to replace school,” Rachel had told her (not face-to-face. What had once been a paper pen-pal type situation had graduated, with the 21st century, to email). “You won’t believe me, but the mental break makes you a better player on the court. Pick a hobby. If you sign up for a class, it’ll help with the length of the days. At the very least it’ll make you seem more approachable to your teammates, and they’ll be more likely to pass to you on the court.”  
  
“They’ll pass to me because I’m better than them,” Thea had written back, but she’d signed up for a ceramics class through the YMCA anyway. To her surprise, she’d been good at it. By the time the class had ended eight weeks later, she’d almost liked it. She’d found this studio, which allowed her to rent clay and the use of a wheel and kiln, and made it part of her weekly routine. Most of the mugs and flatware in her and Kevin’s apartment had been made by her.

It was a nice thought, that. Thea held onto it. She wasn’t sure where it would go, yet—her filing system was all in disarray for the reshuffling—and Thea Muldani did not approve of procrastinating, but giving a thought a chance to air out, to expand a little, show its soft underbelly or its poisoned spikes, that was something she could allow.   
  
The gentlest things were the hardest to classify.  
  
They were worth it, once she did.

Thea yanked open the door to the basement (it was warped, and always stuck) and waited on the entrance mat for the owner to hear the bell. A half-dozen tables marched a lopsided line down the center of the room, two of them filled with a pair of gossiping elderly men in Hawaiian shirts. Pottery wheels lined the right-hand wall. A set of shelves, groaning under the weight of unpainted, unfinished pottery, fit against the left. The earthy smell of clay was everywhere. Thea already felt herself beginning to unwind.

“Hello, Theadora!” 

“Good evening, Ms. Tham,” said Thea, as a calico-skirted woman bustled around the tables towards her.   
  
“ _Theadora._ ”  
  
“My mother raised me to be polite, Ms. Tham.”  
  
“You do say that every time. Let me get you a clipboard, then, _Ms._ Theadora Muldani,” the woman teased, and began rummaging behind the desk. Ms. Tham was the owner of the studio. She had a generous smile and grey-streaked hair, and she carried herself with the grace of a dancer, though she swore she’d never taken lessons. She wore dangling earrings and made intricately detailed pieces that she liked to take photographs of and then smash from the top-storey window. Thea was woman enough to admit that she had a bit of a crush.

“How are your dog’s stitches?” Thea asked as she checked out clay, an hour session, and one of the canvas aprons that Ms. Tham kept in a closet by the door.

“Oh, they’re healing wonderfully, and she’s out of the medical collar so she’s absolutely thrilled. Are your practices going okay?” 

“I blocked every goal Stephen tried to set up today,” Thea said, handing back the clipboard and pen. “He was so angry he started spitting.”  
  
Ms. Tham laughed and ushered Thea to the wheel in the back corner—the one Thea preferred—and left her to return to the kiln room.Thea eased herself into the chair with a _sotto voce_ curse. Walking had been good for her thoughts but bad for her joints. She would have to ice her knee when she got home, and probably her back and her right shoulder as well. She was thirty-two but at times it felt like a thousand.

Retirement was a spectre that haunted every athlete over thirty. Thea had long since decided that she would continue until her body refused to let her, and then push forth at least another year. But she couldn’t escape the disintegration of her body forever. It was important, then, that she do as much as she could in the time she could steal. And that every season she and Court destroyed Great Britain’s will to survive. They played Exy like it wasdiscourteous lacrosse. The Great Britain National Exy Team, that was. Though sometimes, after a loss, Thea wouldn’t object to taking out an entire geographical region.

“Your vases will be ready to glaze in three weeks, gentlemen,” said Ms. Tham, reappearing. The two elderly men thanked her, paid, and exited. Ms. Tham collected a jug—a carafe? Thea wasn’t quite sure of the difference—from the shelves and paint from one of the cabinets in the back, and arranged herself in front of the table closest to Thea’s wheel.

“What’s it to be tonight?” she asked, dipping a paintbrush in a cup of water.

Ms. Tham had opened this studio, she said, because art was best done with other people. She worked better when she had someone to talk with. It was so easy to get stuck in your own head, when you tried to create alone. When you were around others, you could think, because you weren’t the only one doing things wrong. Thea wasn’t sure how much she believed that—she had come to like being alone occasionally, especially when she was overwhelmed—but Ms. Tham did have a point. It was easier to focus on making make her clay do what she wanted when she was surrounded by other people attempting the same thing. And it was easier to believe that she could sort Jean and Jeremy properly when she was doing something with her hands. Thought had always been tied to the active, for Thea.

“A bowl,” Thea said, tucking her braids into the back of her shirt. “I broke another one in the microwave.”

Talking to Ms. Tham was easy. She never asked uncomfortable questions, and she allowed for long gaps where they both used their attention on their pieces, working beside each other in amicable silence. The silky slip between Thea’s fingers, the smooth, cool depth as she formed the sides of the bowl, even the ache in her ankle from working the pedal were old friends. Thea dug her thumbs into the soft clay and filed Jeremy’s laugh with the glint in Jean’s eye after a winning game; Jean’s long, long legs and the rumpled rakishness Jeremy retained even when forced into formalwear. 

When the hour was done Ms. Tham had painted violet-throated flowers up the handle of her jug and Thea had a respectable soup bowl to replace the one she’d lost. Thea looked it over, considering. She’d been making and unmaking the bowl again and again, dissatisfied with the shape, or the groove along the side, or some other aspect of its appearance. _Respectable_ wasn’t quite enough, she decided, and kneaded it back into a lump of clay. 

“You’ll figure it out,” said Ms. Tham, as Thea got up to wash her hands at the sink. They hadn’t spoken at all about Jean and Jeremy, but she always seemed to know when Thea was wrestling with a problem. The encouragement was said airily, but Thea let it sink into her, smoothing the edges of the worry that always came with a topic she hadn’t classified. She was closer now, though. She could feel it. By the time she and Jean met for lunch again, she would know how to treat him.

“Thank you,” Thea said, collecting her things. Ms. Tham waved at her to leave the money in the cash register (her security was _terrible_ ) and Thea folded her apron to place it in the laundry basket. It didn’t matter that she did, of course, but it made Thea feel better. 

 

At the apartment Kevin was perched on a kitchen stool, inhaling the steam from a cup of tea. It was one of the first cups Thea had deemed well-made enough to bring home. His eyelids were drooping in a way that meant he had waited up for her. 

“Unclogged the toilet,” he said, as a greeting. “The water in the kettle should still be hot.”  
  
“My hero,” Thea said. She squeezed his shoulder in thanks as she crossed to fetch the tea Dan had given her the last time they’d met—“Blueberry Dreams,” Dan had said, “I saw it and thought of you, whenever we go for coffee you look for blueberry muffins before even _thinking_ about what you’ll drink, don’t lie”—and fixed a cup of her own. The glaze was chipping on the rim of the mug she used. Maybe she should make a whole new set, with some extra for gifts, so she would have that squared away before she needed them. Did Jeremy have a favorite color? A hand-thrown mug seemed the kind of present he’d like.

Kevin made a grabbing motion at Thea’s waist. She stepped within arm’s reach and let him pull her against his side. “I tried to make a bowl but I couldn’t get it right,” she said.

“We’ll get rid of the microwave.”  
  
“We can set it out in the street. Oh no, a fire.”  
  
“Good riddance.”

“And to its family. Tell me about your swamp battle.”  
  
“O _kay,_ so Thee, here’s the thing about Paz—”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin, handing Thea a gift bag: here I got you an extra-large heating pad so you can get both your back extensors at the same time and you’ll still be blocking strikers when you’re 40
> 
> Thea, clutching her chest, completely serious: Kevin. That’s so romantic
> 
> (Remember kids, heat BEFORE activity, ice AFTER)
> 
> (Neurotypicals? In this relationship? Sounds fake)


	4. Sometimes Movie Dates Involve Free Trade Organic Popcorn (And That's Just How It Is)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: implied past alcoholism, mentions of Riko's abuse, a war movie is watched that includes a fictional self-sacrifice suicide

“I didn’t know Thea had your number,” Kevin said, handing Jeremy a glass of iced tea. Now that Jean’s attention was tuned to it, he realized he hadn’t seen evidence of anything alcoholic since he and Jeremy had walked in. Even Thea was sticking to water. That someone who Jean had once counted his only ally in the world had gone through such an extraordinary life change without Jean knowing about it was unsettling. 

“I took out all the Exy books in the library for her when she blew out her knee that time,” said Jeremy, gesturing cheerfully to where Thea was measuring bulk popcorn kernels into a pan over the stove. Thea offered him the hint of a smile. “I think she’d already read most of them, but I know whenever I’m out on medical I’m desperate for something to do besides sit around feeling sorry for myself.”

It was the first Jean was hearing of this. Jeremy hadn’t let go so much as a peep.Jean’s boyfriend was _such a good person._ “Did you bring her that fictional biography of that one, she had a name that rhymed—“  
  
“Madison Robertson,” Kevin and Thea chorused. “Yes,” Thea continued, placing the lid on the pot. “And on day three I read it, because the alternative was putting my foot through one of the coaches’ doors and shouting until he let me on the court.”

“That never works,” said Kevin, with more resentment than a fictional scenario would warrant. They all looked at him. “What?”

“Sometimes I forget how much I love you,” said Thea, stepping up beside Kevin to pat him on the cheek. Kevin caught her hand, and Jean found his eyes inexorably drawn to the flower arrangement depicted tastefully on the kitchen backsplash. In the privacy of their own home, Kevin and Thea were far more affectionate than they let on anywhere else. Jean was glad—they were both his friends and he wished them well—but Jean felt painfully that he and Jeremy were intruding. Never mind that they had been invited.

The apartment that Thea and Kevin shared was modern and airy, with dark wooden surfaces and cleverly angled metal struts holding up the shelves and the counter along the low wall separating the living room and the kitchen. Jean guessed it served as a table, as could see nothing else that qualified. There was an aloe vera plant on the coffee table. The whole place resembled nothing so much as a picture in a catalog, as he said to Kevin when he passed in front of Jean to lean against one of the two recliners.

Kevin scratched the back of his head. “It’s usually not.”

“My mother bored into my head that a house should be clean for guests, especially important ones,” Thea said. “I hired a service.” She was wearing heels. Jean was having a difficult time not oogling her legs. 

As always, it was Jeremy to the rescue. “I’ve never had a cleaning service ordered for me before. I’m super flattered. Is this one of the perks of being Court?”

“Half the service was for Jean’s sake,” Kevin pointed out. Only by the sudden ease in his posture was it clear that he was joking. “You have to score a winning goal before they bring in cleaning services for _just_ you.”

“Done. Next time there’s a real match.”

They were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. Both Kevin and Thea ignored it, but twenty-eight years spent living up to his parents’ expectations had Jeremy leaping for the handle. Jean plucked Jeremy’s iced tea away from him for safekeeping and basked in the flabbergasted looks Kevin and Thea were shooting him. It was with great peril that one assumed Jeremy Knox wouldn’t take over being hospitable. At a post-game party for Jeremy’s last team, Jean had witnessed Jeremy declaim a twenty-minute presentation about why he should have the honor of mopping spilled beer from the kitchen floor, despite the fact that it wasn’t Jeremy’s house and Jeremy had been in an entirely different room when the spill had happened.

“I didn’t know you had friends over!”

“Um,” said Jeremy, as a white-haired woman wearing a bright pink bathrobe edged past him to fill the doorway. “Hello? I’m Jeremy Knox, I’m a teammate of Kevin and Thea’s?”  
  
“Yes you are, you’ve got the look of it. Kevin, you naughty thing, why didn’t you tell me you were having a party?”  
  
The concept of a woman old enough to be on social security referring to Kevin Day as “you naughty thing” almost had Jean looking around for unicorns. It would be less improbable. Kevin looked like he was considering slipping through the floorboards and skipping town forever to take up a new life in witness protection.

This had the opportunity to be entertaining. “Jean Moreau,” Jean said, stepping into view and giving the woman a nod. He leaned heavily into the accent and was rewarded when the woman practically cooed. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”  
  
“Oh! Silly me. You can call me Mrs. Williams,” said the woman, who was, apparently, Mrs. Williams. She clapped her hands together and giggled. “Kevin, dear, Thea, darling, are you sure you need both these handsome men for yourselves? Let me borrow one and we could really paint the town red. I’ll have him returned by morning, don’t you fret.”

Thea’s face was smooth as marble. Jean recognized her manner from dealings with the press. She angled her body towards the door. “Mrs. Williams. We weren’t expecting you.”  
  
“Goodness! I hope not,” said Mrs. Williams. She giggled again. “Unless you’ve been spying on me to check when I’m out of eggs, which is why I’m popping by! I thought, why go to all the trouble of the market if all I need is a single egg—“

“We don’t have any eggs,” said Kevin, sounding distinctly as if he’d been trodden on. 

“Nonsense! A strong healthy boy and girl like you! And your guests, of course, Knox, you said, and Mo- _reau,_ how lovely—“  
  
Thea walked over and pushed the door closed with gentle, perfect precision in Mrs. Williams’ face. Mrs. Williams’ spirited monologue went on for several seconds more before it dwindled into unintelligible mush as she wandered away down the hallway.

When the final signs of Mrs. Williams’ neighborly outreach had faded, Kevin made a noise like a parakeet gagging. “Jean,” he accused, and collapsed backwards into the recliner. 

Jean took a drink of Jeremy’s iced tea. “Yes?”  


“What am I getting into,” Thea said, but she didn’t seem upset. On the contrary, she patted Jeremy on the shoulder and gestured that Jean should follow her back to the stove, where the popcorn pot was now shaking vigorously. “I’m going to let them choose the movie,” she said in an undertone, under pretense of checking the status of the kernels. “I don’t have a preference. Unless you wanted to join them.”  
  
“No,” Jean confirmed. He’d long since given up trying to figure out Jeremy’s taste in movies. It seemed every change of mood mandated a different genre, and Jean could never guess correctly which was appropriate. Besides, there were more interesting fish on the fire. “Mrs. Williams?”  
  
“Careful,” said Thea, ticking the burner over another notch. Her smile was all teeth. “I could tell the story of how you thought sparkling water was naturally carbonated.”

“Advertisements are scams and falsehoods,” Jean said. Thea took the popcorn off the heat and pointed at the rightmost bottom cabinet. Jean set down the drinks and crouched to rummage inside it for a bowl big enough to hold popcorn for four people. Over by the television, there was the sound of a pillow hitting flesh. “ _Jérème,_ if you pick something animated I’m leaving,” he called.

“Scrooge McDuck over there, I hear you, don’t worry,” Jeremy called back. Jean didn’t understand the reference, but Thea seemed to find it amusing. She lifted the pot and shook the popcorn neatly into the bowl as Jean held it steady.

“I’ve heard you call him that before,” she said to Jean.

“When Jean came to USC I was determined to make friends,” said Jeremy as Jean carried the popcorn over to the low-backed, deep navy blue couch draped artfully with a black-and-white blanket. He snatched a piece of popcorn from the bowl before Jean could put it down. “I would keep asking him questions until he got annoyed enough to answer.”  
  
“Why. Why. Why,” Jean said, monotone. “So I took away the _y._ ”  
  
“That’s awful. _Jérème,_ ” said Kevin, rolling it around his mouth. He always pushed his _r’s_ too close to his teeth, but for once Jean couldn’t bring himself to complain. Kevin was half-melted into the recliner, a pillow on his lap where it had presumably fallen after Jeremy had thrown it at him. He was… _relaxed._ Even stumbling drunk Kevin had always held tension like a knife, the edge of it sawing apart the dense fibers of his fear until Kevin either snapped or drank himself into oblivion. Yet here he was, mouthing Jeremy’s pet name with the guileless awe of discovery.

_I’m going to have to re-learn him,_ Jean thought, and the idea was thunder and static. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. Jean was looking forward to it. 

“We settled on a movie,” said Jeremy breathlessly. He’d been watching Kevin say his pet name too. “Kevin, you want to make the announcement?”  
  
Kevin rolled his eyes and held up the DVD case. It was some war movie Jean had never heard of before. World War II, from the uniforms of the men on the cover. It looked exactly like the kind of thing Kevin watched at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep.

“He let me choose, I promise,” said Jeremy, spreading his hands under Thea’s knowing gaze. “I like the strategizing? I like to see how it all comes together. Or doesn’t.”

Kevin heaved himself to his feet and set about putting in the disc and configuring the DVD player. Thea swung herself gracefully around the couch, taking a seat a cushion’s width away from Jeremy on the end and waving Jean between them. She obviously expected them all to sit together, and Jean, who had assumed they’d be more spread out—besides the two recliners and the couch, there were the kitchen bar stools and a plush black-and-white ottoman—eased himself gingerly into the space. His skin prickled across the scant distance between his arm and Thea’s.

Jeremy helped take some of the nervous edge off by curling into Jean’s side, head dropping automatically to Jean’s shoulder. They’d spent many an evening watching the television exactly like this, and Jean forced himself to breathe out and relax into the suede upholstery. The back of the couch was too short to allow him to comfortably rest his head. He had to shift the base of his spine flush with the cushions in order to stay upright. 

Why did people as tall as Kevin and Thea have a couch like _this_?

Kevin clicked off the overhead lights and came to sit on the opposite side of Thea, the music from the DVD menu blaring a heavy metal goose-step. “I don’t think that’s historically accurate,” said Jeremy.

Jean pinched him. “Maybe it’s avant-garde. The anger and displacement of the music represents the rising tensions of the time.”  
  
“Maybe Slayer will do a cameo as the demon of war.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll shut up,” said Kevin.

“What’ll you give me for it?” Jeremy asked, sticking out his tongue. Kevin fumbled the remote and dropped it on the floor. When he came back up, the air between him and Jeremy had thickened. Beside Jean, Thea made a low, pleased tutting sound.

Jean had been concerned with how he would feel, when he saw confirmation of Thea or Kevin’s interest in Jeremy. Would he be jealous? Would it be too much, and he would have to ask Jeremy to swallow his disappointment and settle for Jean alone? Watching Kevin and Thea, half-illuminated in the blue light of the television, Jean waited for the flash of enmity he should feel as another couple eyed his boyfriend with undisguised hunger.   
  
Instead, Jean’s mind flew back to Jeremy’s words after the restaurant: _I can’t wait until they get to see you like this._ At the time Jeremy had meant Jean, but Jean found himself picturing Jeremy in the center of them, arched back against Jean’s chest as Kevin and Thea’s hands roamed. They could see how beautiful Jeremy was when he moaned, chest heaving. Would Jeremy tell Kevin how to please him with that ragged edge his voice got when he was close? Would Thea be wet when Jean slid down to curl his fingers inside her while she watched?

Jean was glad he was sitting down.

With a palpable jerk, Kevin wrenched his attention back to the screen. Jean’s lungs contracted and expanded again like a bellows, and he pulled Jeremy closer and attempted to focus on the olive-uniformed figures marching across the opening credits. Thea took a large handful of popcorn.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Jean whispered into Jeremy’s ear.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” croaked Jeremy, which was answer enough.

The movie was mildly engaging, to Jean’s admittedly apathetic judgement.About half an hour in, while the general and lieutenants were squabbling over a map of the Western Front, Thea unbuckled her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her. When Kevin wrapped his arm about her, Jean distracted himself by thinking how sweet they looked, propped against each other. In increments, so he wouldn’t disturb them, Jean slumped sideways so Jeremy could see them too.

The consummate last stand lasted longer than anyone except maybe Kevin was expecting, and Jeremy had to beg for a bathroom break before it was over. They all got up to stretch their legs and Kevin started another pot of popcorn. The result was that when Jeremy shrieked, Jean was first to the bathroom door.

“Jeremy?” he asked, gesturing for Thea and Kevin to stay put.

“Everything’s great,” came the answer through the door. “Didn’t mean to startle anyone.”

Suspicious, Jean waited in the hall while Jeremy finished up. Jeremy jumped when he opened the door and saw Jean right outside it.

“They have a _fountain,_ ” he hissed, tugging Jean close by the collar of his button-down. “In the _bathroom._ ” Jean peeked around him and saw that there was, indeed, a three-tiered fountain in squared black marble sitting atop a shelf above the toilet.

“Kevin was never this put-together,” Jean said helplessly, volume low so the other two wouldn’t overhear. “I’d say it was all Thea, but I can’t imagine her picking up after him.”

Jeremy laughed, short and slightly hysterical. “No, I don’t think she would.”

Jean kissed him briefly, drawing comfort from the press of his lips and trying to give a measure of it back in return. Through the rest of the movie he grappled with the information he’d been given. He was happy Kevin had managed to become the type of person to put interactive sculptures in his bathroom, and happy that Thea was too, if it was something they liked, together. It was just so unnecessary. Thea especially had had taken for someone who did not waste time with the unnecessary. He would be re-learning his perceptions of both of them, it seemed. Thea noticed him drifting and prodded him with her toes as the heroic lieutenant finished his final speech and flipped the switch to sacrifice himself for the rest of his platoon. Kevin was enraptured, perched on the edge of his seat and holding tightly to Thea’s hand. Jean glanced over at Jeremy and saw that he was hugging a pillow to his chest, tears dripping onto it from his chin. Jean gave Thea a slanted smile, charmed by them both despite himself, and she returned it. 

They all had the same early morning—press duty with the local newspaper, which was running a series on soft drinks and sports players, utterly boring but necessary to remain in the media’s good graces—so after the final screen faded, Jean stood and Jeremy made their excuses to go. “I had fun,” he said, merrily wiping his reddened eyes and fluffing the pillows back to plumpness before Thea could stop him. “We could maybe do something like this again next week?”

“Yes,” said Thea. She hadn’t bothered to put her heels back on as she and Kevin walked them to the door. Jean appreciated not having to crane his stiff neck. 

“Great!” said Jeremy. He opened the door and turned to face them. “So, good night, I guess?”  
  
They all stood, staring at each other. Kevin fidgeted with his pockets. Jeremy rocked from foot to foot. Thea drummed her fingers against her arm.

“ _Et merde,_ ” Jean said, and grabbed Kevin’s shoulders to pull him in.

The first thing Jean noticed was that Kevin kissed familiar _._ He had kissed Kevin before, of course. In the Nest, everyone ended up fucking each other at some point, and with the proximity given by their positions Kevin and Jean held in Riko’s egomaniacal court it had been inevitable. When _pleasure_ meant only a brief escape from pain, they stuffed it greedily into open mouths, kissing through bleeding lips, stroking bruise-spattered skin and writhing together in stolen corners. They crashed together, because tenderness was weakness, and they never spoke of the times Kevin shook and sobbed while Jean eased antiseptic cream over the new gashes in his legs or when the rarely seen, paid-off doctor had had to re-set three of Jean’s ribs and Kevin had held his hand the whole way through. Their nights were Riko’s—always Riko’s—but during the day, on the rare occasions Riko was absorbed with some of his other schemes, Jean and Kevin would seek each other out and exchange the only kindness they knew how, trapped between lips like a whisper.

Kevin still kissed with that same dichotomy; the desperation, the sense that now was the only time, perhaps the last time, and every minute tremble of Jean’s lips against his would have to encompass lifetimes; and the gentle hesitance, that asked, _is this all right, can I have this,_ that wanted Jean to feel softness, in this as he could feel it nowhere else. Yet there was confidence underlying the kiss that had not been there before. They were years free, and Kevin knew it. He had kissed and loved and been loved in the time intervening, and Jean could feel when Kevin stopped letting the kiss be consumed with shadows and let the gentleness be comfort, the desperation desire.When Jean forced himself to draw back, he tilted his forehead against Kevin’s for a long moment and gripped him hard.

If Kevin’s kiss was a recollection, Thea’s was entirely new. She did not yield, as Kevin was wont to do in kissing, but neither did she seek to master him. She was warm, and met Jean where he was, the chalk taste of her lipstick exciting for its novelty, and teasing contrast to the tip of her tongue. Her kiss was shorter than Kevin’s, but it was, after all, the first one she and Jean had indulged in.

And then Jean kissed Jeremy, because he couldn’t not, after all that. Jeremy opened to Jean immediately, and his kisses were always golden and sweet, honey from the jar, eager softness and impish teeth and _home._ Jean was not sure how he managed to stand, after the three of them in quick succession. He held on to the edge of the door frame in case his wobbling knees gave up the fight.

Thea swooped down to kiss Jeremy’s cheek and  Kevin, of all things, shook his hand, and then the two of them were out the door, in the car and sucked into traffic driving home without Jean remembering how they’d got there. This was slightly alarming, as he was driving. He shot Jeremy a frantic glance, half-afraid he’d crashed the car and not realized it, and found Jeremy watching him with fondness crinkled in the corners of his eyes.

“You had a good time,” Jeremy said.

“Yes,” said Jean. He ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth, feeling. “And you?”  
  
“Yes,” said Jeremy. Something about it pulled Jean out of the haze he’d been sinking back into and sharpened the outline of Jeremy sitting beside him, washed in light from the neon signs of the city at night. Thea had left a smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

“Are you upset they didn’t kiss you?” Jean asked, slowly.

Jeremy stared out through the windshield, pushing his sleeves up his forearms. “Yes,” he admitted, after some struggle. “But I had a wonderful night, before that, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

His self-sacrifice would kill him, one day, if Jean was not there to stop him. “Jeremy,” he said. “It’s not that they didn’t want to. They’re being careful with you.”

Jeremy’s mouth twisted.

Jean tried again. “It’s not personal. You’re not a Raven, and we were taught that that makes you fragile. They’re afraid of pushing too hard, too fast.”  
  
“None of us are Ravens, not anymore,” Jeremy protested. His fists clenched around his seatbelt. “We’re on the same team. We’re all Court.”  
  
This was one thing that Jeremy had never understood. “Kevin and I see it that way, but we _left_ the Ravens. Thea aged out. And there’s always going to be some part of all of us that sees the world that way, Ravens and not-Ravens, no matter how much Kevin and I have fought it.”  
  
The light turned green. Jean leaned on the horn until the car in front of them took the hint and started moving. “They don’t think _you’re_ fragile. It’s an old prejudice, more emotion than thought. They know you’re capable.”  
  
“Now you’re patronizing me.” Jeremy was pleating angry lines into the tops of his trousers, creasing them harder than steam could get out. They would have to use the iron. “You’re not one of them anymore, even if we’re back at Evermore and surrounded by them, and their colors, and the court they practice on.”  
  
For a brash, terrible instant, Jean was furious at Jeremy for spoiling what had been a lovely evening with his whining. Jean hated himself for it immediately. Jeremy’s indignation made sense, Jean told himself, especially since Jeremy didn’t understand how the Ravens worked. “I know. I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t gotten away. But being a Raven, even though I threw that off of me, it never completely leaves you. For most Ravens, that’s the way they want it. Like Thea.”

“You talk like you admire that.” Jeremy’s voice was climbing in volume and pitch. “I saw you when you got out of that place. I was with you when we had to fucking detox you from it. You’re still getting that poison out! I’ve seen Kevin flinch at anything that even hints of Riko, and you sit there and act like—like it’s some club I never bothered to pay membership dues for—”

“It’s not that!” Jean gripped the steering wheel, hard, so the leather creaked. He focused on the smell of gasoline from the city, the roar of the cars and people around them. A man on the corner with a green fluorescent hat was hawking edibles. “Can we talk about this when we get home? Not in the middle of traffic.”

“Fine,” said Jeremy tightly. “But we will talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Kevin, circa Foxes, pounding on Wymack’s door with his crutches after a sprained ankle: let me fucking play old man
> 
> Matt, from the other room: Kevin show your father some respect
> 
> (Listen, folks. You cannot tell me there is not bad YA lit about Exy as a backdrop for teenage angst in the AFTG universe. Aaron buys Neil a whole box of it for Christmas and is it a gift? Or is it a curse? That’s always the question when it comes to Aaron and Neil)


	5. Birds Are A Public Menace And Don't Care Enough About Environmentally Friendly Business Practices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some discussion of Riko's abuse

Talking that night accomplished little but to frustrate them further, though the reprieve in the middle served to cool the tension enough so neither of them felt the need to sleep on the couch. They curved around each other in bed like two halves of an apology, but in the morning Jeremy was still angry, and Jean was still exasperated by it. Jeremy headed out for an early errand run, probably desperate to escape Jean’s presence, and Jean was left to simmer in the apartment by himself.

He almost called Renee, but Renee didn’t need to deal with Jean’s bullshit right now—she was at a week-long charity fundraiser in the Rockies. He’d gotten as far as dialing Neil before remembering that Neil’s relationship conflict resolutions involved knives and cancer-causing addictions. Jean threw himself into one of the kitchen chairs, dropped his head to the placemat, and resisted the urge to scream.

“Jean?” said Neil’s voice through the phone. Jean had neglected to hit the “end” button. He cancelled the call and chucked his phone across the room. It landed un-satisfyingly, if fortunately for Jean’s later convenience, in the drawer of oven mitts Jean and Jeremy kept forgetting to close.

_Why is love so fucking complicated,_ Jean thought morosely, and then rapped himself sharply on the side of the head. _Come on. Get yourself together. You and Jeremy promised at the beginning that you’d each do your best. You’ve stuck to that too well to trip over something as foolish as this._

What Jean needed—and he hated to admit it—was backup. He didn’t _know_ how to explain this in a way that wouldn’t seem like he was defending the Ravens, or belittling Jeremy. He shoved himself away from the table, fished his phone from out between _You’re the apple of my pie!_ and a screen print of a stack of pancakes, and sent Kevin a text.

He was just pouring fresh coffee into two of their favorite mugs when Jeremy returned, panting slightly from the climb. Jeremy refused to use the elevator on principle. He smiled at Jean and held up a cardboard tray containing two steaming paper cups. “We had the same idea.”

“Hanson will think we had cocaine for breakfast,” Jean said, smiling back. Hanson was the second of the assistant coaches, and typically oversaw the once-a-week health check-in that the players’ contracts mandated. The grocery bag hanging from Jeremy’s shoulder (reusable: Jeremy was California bred through-and-through, and the disposable take-out cups were as much an overture of peace as the coffee was) slipped down to his elbow, jostling the tray, and Jean hurried over to take it and the groceries from him. 

“You’re the best,” said Jeremy, trailing after Jean to the kitchen. He reached out to grasp the hem of Jean’s shirt once Jean had set his cargo safely on the counter. “Hey. Listen. I love you. I’m sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn’t have implied you in any way liked what was done to you.”

“I love you too, and I’m sorry too,” Jean said, taking Jeremy’s hand in his own. “I didn’t think how it must have looked, that they kissed me and not you. I’ve asked Kevin to come over before practice to help explain the whole Ravens thing.”

“That’ll be good,” Jeremy said. He touched Jean’s cheek, gently, and stepped forward into Jean’s arms. “ _Relationships,_ ” he complained.

Jean stuck his nose in Jeremy’s hair. “I know.”  
  
“I know you know. No, wait, I decided I’m done being mopey. I’m going to be open and cheerful.”

“Such a bold departure from your usual state.”

“Watch it, mister. What time is Kevin coming over?”

“Knowing him, he won’t be awake for hours. Noon, maybe. Unless he has some place he has to be.”

They visited the gym, and then spent the next two hours lounging in the patch of sun on their living room floor, the carpet scratchy on bare legs until Jeremy acquiesced to turning on the air conditioning. Predictably, he changed into sweatpants not soon after, draping a blanket over Jean’s head when he smirked. 

Jean didn’t stop to consider the effect that Jeremy, cowlicked and wearing his blocky-framed glasses, would have on an unsuspecting viewer until Kevin arrived and was struck speechless. It would have been kinder to ask Jeremy to change, but Jean liked the gobsmacked expression on Kevin’s face. 

The three of them set up camp around the kitchen table. Jean chose a different chair than the one he’d had a tantrum in.

“So,” said Jeremy. He steepled his fingers in front of him and then seemed to realize that made him look like a schoolteacher, and splayed them on the table. “Jean says you didn’t. Um. You and Thea are being careful with me because I never went to Edgar Allen?”  
  
Knowing how Kevin was, Jean had been very clear in the text he’d sent asking for him. Kevin still flinched and looked away. Without thinking about it, Jean reached over to clasp his hand. It wasn’t like he couldn’t use the support himself. That was why Kevin was here, after all. Kevin laced his fingers through Jean’s and held on tightly.

Jeremy looked stricken, but thankfully Kevin spoke before Jeremy could backpedal. “You know Thee’s the only full former Raven on the Court?”

“I hadn’t been sure.”  
  
“Yeah.” Kevin took a shuddering breath. Jeremy reached across to offer his hands to both of them. Jean had never before been glad their table was so small. Jean took Jeremy’s hand but Kevin left his offered lie; Jean was worried Jeremy would take it as a slight, but Jeremy’s face reflected only concern. Either the gesture or the act of refusing it gave Kevin the strength to continue. “You know Riko and I were Court as freshmen. When Thea graduated they signed her, and then…” Kevin flexed his left hand inside Jean’s. Jean tapped it with his thumb, a comforting gesture he used with Jeremy. “Then I went to Palmetto, and the master judged Riko should focus on the NCAA.”

Jeremy’s eyes went to Jean. There was a jagged scar over Jean’s left shoulder, one of the ugliest ones, that Jean had told him had come from after Riko had been told of that decision. Jean had forgotten about it, until now. Jeremy was better than Jean was at remembering the origins of the marks on Jean’s body. 

Jean had made the appointment to have the tattoo removed the day he signed his first pro team, but the spot where it had marked him burned.

He cleared his throat, because the muscle at the edge of Jeremy’s jaw was ticking the way it did when he was holding back his anger. “After that, the Court held off signing Ravens to wait for Riko and Kevin. The master’s idea, naturally. No distraction from the triumphant return. Instead, the Ravens got exposed, and Riko—“  
  
“Got what he deserved.” Kevin’s teeth snapped around the words. It had taken a long, long time for Kevin to say them, and more for him to believe them. Jean gave Kevin’s hand another tap and then withdrew so Kevin could concentrate on speaking. Kevin flicked his eyes to Jean’s for a moment, grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me this if it’s too difficult,” said Jeremy, subdued.

“I didn’t know where else to start. It’s all tangled up,” Kevin confessed. He closed his eyes. “The point is, after that any Ravens were effectively out of the running for Court. PR nightmare. They’ll get it back, but nobody from those years was ever going to be signed. Jean and I are the only former Ravens that Thea’s been on a team with since she was twenty…two? I think? And you have to understand, when the Ravens come under scrutiny, there’s two ways to respond, and we’re taught—“  
  
“I remember even before there was concern about the way the team operated,” said Jeremy. “We didn’t know, but we could at least realize it wasn’t normal. And…focused on winning,” he added, instead of what he’d been about to.

“We were taught that what we went through made us stronger,” said Jean. “When other teams, reporters, the parents of those who had them asked questions, we banded together. We were the superior. Nobody else could understand unless they had experienced it. It was unhealthy, but it was all we had. To think otherwise would be to say that none of it was worth it.”

Jeremy put a hand to his forehead, covering his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Go ahead. I’m still listening.”

“That’s why Thea still believes in the Ravens’ method,” said Kevin quietly. “I had the Foxes, and Jean had you and the Trojans, but she had nobody for the fallout but message boards full of former Ravens just as fervent as they’d been taught. She’s not…I promise, she respects you. She spent an hour after your first practice with us telling me how you were better then I’d even said, and I had to watch out so you wouldn’t catch up.”  
  
Surprise made Jeremy’s jaw drop open. “She did?”

“I keep telling you you’re here with us for a reason,” said Jean in French. The corner of Kevin’s mouth quirked up and then flattened.

Jeremy laughed, embarrassment and lingering sympathy rather than amusement. “Wow. My problems seem really petty after all that.”  
  
Kevin scowled and opened his eyes again. “I wrote a script,” he said, leaning forward to pull folded pages from his back pocket. “I woke up when Jean texted and I planned it out. I went over it all the way here. If there’s no point then I could have spared myself the effort.”  
  
“You are here earlier than we expected,” said Jean, to nudge the tension into lightness. “I thought you’d forget what a morning was, without early practice on the schedule.” Kevin turned his scowl on Jean.

“Okay,” said Jeremy. His placating smile wasn’t as wide as usual, but it worked. “I was upset because last night I thought, maybe you and Thea were only attracted to Jean, and not to me, because, you know. And then Jean, uh, tried to explain, and I thought it was because you two thought I wasn’t, like, good enough? Strong enough, I guess?”

“What?” Kevin looked flabbergasted. “I’ve admired you since I was seventeen, and Thea, with the first practice, but even before that. We wanted both of you. Jean, you don’t think we only wanted Jeremy? Because that’s not—you’re—“ he struggled with the words, and instead reached for Jean’s hand again.

Jean wasn’t prepared for the bolt of relief that confirmation produced. “So it would be correct to say that you and Thea wanted to kiss Jeremy last night?”  
  
“Yes! Why would we not? ” he caught sight of Jeremy with his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. “You…thought…”

“Enough _,_ ” Jean said, shoving Kevin off his chair so he had to perform an acrobatic maneuver to keep from falling. “Both of you have your heads up your asses. Kevin, kiss him before he convinces himself that you and Thea hate him again.”

“I’ll get you back for that,” Jeremy complained to Jean. “I’d do it now if I weren’t. Um.” Kevin had come around the table and bent down in front of Jeremy’s chair. “You good with this? Because I’m good, I’ve made that super obvious, and I know you said, but.”  
  
“Jeremy,” Kevin said, exasperated. He was also nervous, but Jean didn’t think Jeremy could tell. It was in the way Kevin smoothed down the side of his shirt before leaning in. Jean spared a thought for how to best arrange himself to be pretentiously smug after they separated, and then.

And then.

They looked _good_ together. The slope down to Kevin’s chin fit perfectly in the space offered by the tilt of Jeremy’s, and their lips were full, plush, as they pressed together. Jean knew how that felt, from either direction. In the place Jean kept his possessiveness a wary beast raised its head, but it was pleased; not envy, and again, not jealousy, but a rumbling approval. Their mouths shifted, searching a better angle, and Jean saw the tiniest sliver of Jeremy’s tongue. Kevin gasped. _Mine,_ said the beast, meaning both of them. Jean concurred. 

After entirely too short a time (Jean was enjoying the entertainment), Jeremy turned his head so he and Kevin could catch their breath. They shot Jean nearly identical looks across the table.

_I just kissed Jeremy Knox,_ said Kevin’s.

_I just kissed Kevin Day,_ said Jeremy’s.

They were adorable. Jean raised a finger and twirled it. “Yayyy.”

Kevin mumbled something and straightened up to start for the door. Jean was struck with the sudden certainty that he didn’t want Kevin to leave, and reached as Kevin passed him to grasp his elbow. “No.”  
  
Kevin paused, confused. Jean hadn’t thought further than this, so they stared at each other in silence.

“Why don’t we do something together?” Jeremy asked. 

_Merci,_ Jean mouthed, turning his head so Kevin couldn’t read his lips. 

“We should get to the court,” Kevin said, looking between them. His arm had gone tense under Jean’s hand.

“We don’t need to be there until one,” Jeremy wheedled. He smiled, and Kevin swallowed. _Gotcha,_ Jean thought triumphantly. “You don’t have to, but if we're continuing with the dating, then we’re still in the wooing stage. Let us spoil you.”

Still, Kevin hesitated.

“If you’re this stressed, it’ll affect your game. You’ll be more focused if you calm down,” Jean pointed out.

“All right,” said Kevin, at length. “Only for a little.”

 

They took Jeremy’s car.

“What’s the point of having a convertible if I can’t chauffeur my handsome beaux around town?” Jeremy argued, holding Jean’s keys behind his back. Jean ceded to Jeremy’s stubbornness when Jeremy offered him a kiss, and then Jeremy kissed Kevin and Kevin kissed Jean, and it was full of awkward bumping knees and Jean’s heart beating too fast and Kevin swearing when he ran into the edge of the cabinets. It was wonderful.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t peg you for the sleek convertible type,” said Kevin as they piled inside.  
  
“I have to maintain my beach aesthetic,” explained Jeremy. “I almost bought something huge, so I could take it up into the mountains for camping, but—“  
  
“But I refuse to be seen stepping out of a _van,_ ” finished Jean. “The convertible was a compromise.”

Kevin hung his arm over the door and patted the side of the car. “I think Thea’s dad used to take her camping, when she was little. She still goes hiking.”

“We could make a trip out of it! Take a weekend after a game and get lost in the forest!”  
  
Kevin’s eyes, reflected in the rearview, had gone wide in alarm. Jean reached forward from the back seat and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll stay with you in civilization. Let those two have their mud and their Lyme disease.”

Jean directed them to a tea shop that he and Thea had found during their lunchtime forays and the three of them bought whole wheat bagels and an iced vanilla almond tea each. Jeremy had spotted the pink, blue, and white pin on the barista’s apron and had struck up a conversation about being trans that had culminated in a recommendation for her favorite tea on the menu. The rain the past night had chased away some of the humidity, so they carried their spoils outside and ate sitting on a bench looking out over the street. It was noisy and smelled of rubber, but the sun was pleasant on Jean’s face and hands.

Kevin fiddled with the lid of his ceramic carry cup—Jeremy had taken down the travel mugs from the top shelf and foisted one up on Kevin and one upon Jean, claiming a thermos for himself—and twisted on the bench to face Jeremy. “How did you know you were trans?”  
  
Jean opened his mouth, hackles rising, but Jeremy laid a hand on his wrist to tell him to wait. “Whenever my friends and I played house I wanted to be the father,” Jeremy said. “One day my friend Shannah asked me if I wanted to be a boy for real, and I thought, _I can do that? Yes!_ Not everybody figures it out when they’re young, though. How did you know you were cis?”  
  
Kevin shrugged. He took a bite of his bagel. “There’s a kid that joined the Foxes that my father says doesn’t do gender at all. I thought that was the reason he signed h— _them_ , but it was something else.”

“Tell Coach Wymack I’d be happy to talk to them about being trans as a college athlete,” Jeremy said warmly.Kevin nodded, relieved to be handing over the reins, and changed the subject.

After finishing their bagels they wandered over to the park and watched the ducks in the pond swim and fight each other for the juiciest bugs. Jean propped his elbows on the railing of the bridge and followed the saga of a large drake Jeremy had dubbed “Howard Humphery Hobart VI” as it failed again and again to get the hens to notice it.

“You look like you’re plotting,” said Kevin. Jean hummed, noncommittal, and admired Kevin’s profile in the sunlight. On Kevin’s other side Jeremy was making crooning noises at a wagging train of ducklings.

Joy was the flutter of Kevin’s shirttails in the breeze, the thud of Jeremy’s sneakers as he swung himself up to perch on the railing. The ducks were too loud for the scene to feel peaceful, but Jean didn’t mind. He could feel contentment buzzing on the tip of his tongue, and across his back where the sun beat down, hot enough that his body half-mistook it for cool.

“I’m glad to be here,” said Jean without meaning to. 

Kevin leaned beside Jean, so the tip of his little finger just brushed the side of Jean’s arm. He looked out over the lake as he said, “It’s nice to see you happy.”

“I’ve been happy for a while,” Jean said. It wasn’t a realization, except that it was. Jean was learning that happiness, no matter how many times it made itself known, carried with it a curl of originality, so that even the same scene—the weight of a racquet, the taste of fresh berries, Jeremy in his arms—had some new part of it revealed to revel in, every time. If happiness became blasé it would no longer be happiness, but boredom, wasn’t that right? Jean was sure he’d heard a quote like that somewhere.

Kevin’s pinky nudged Jean again. Jean followed the angle of Kevin’s chin and saw that Jeremy had taken his shoes off and was dangling his feet over the water. Jean caught Kevin’s eye.

As one, they swept up to flank Jeremy, seized him by the arms, and threw him in the lake.

“Hey! Get down here! You little shits! Yes, sorry ma’am, I do see you have a child there, I will watch my language, sorry—you, you hecking goofballs!” Jeremy was laughing, treading water in the thankfully deep pond. Ah, perhaps Jean and Kevin should have checked that, first. Ducks exploded outwards away from him, honking and shedding feathers. A baby in a pink diaper, not the one Jeremy had been scolded for corrupting, toddled after Howard Humphery Hobart with a gleeful shriek, chased by her beleaguered father. Jeremy emerged from the pond sopping wet and covered in weeds, his shoes squelching with every step. 

“You started this,” he said, backing up when he reached the bridge. Jean had the presence of mind to dive aside, but Kevin didn’t, and it did Jean little good when Kevin seized Jean’s ankle on his way down under Jeremy’s flying leap. Improvisation was the mark of a good backliner, so Jean twisted mid-fall to land on Kevin’s arm.

“We’re professional athletes! We can’t be fighting in the park!” Kevin fussed as he grappled to pin Jeremy’s legs.

“You’re the one who helped push me in!”  


It was a bedraggled and pond-splashed trio that trooped into the locker room to change before the check-in. Glanville looked like he’d rather not ask, but Blinov slapped Kevin on the back and congratulated him on having fun. Kevin looked murderous.

“We’re building up his character,” Jean told Blinov, straight-faced. He’d only escaped “incurable hardass” status himself by making the effort to accept a few times when the others went out after practice. Jean didn’t need his teammates to like him, but he’d found, in his experiences since Edgar Allan, that it wasn’t terrible.

Practice was brutal. There was maintenance being done on the giant fans that circulated air in the Court. Even though the ceiling was off, hindering everyone’s gameplay, the climate inside was suffocating. Custodians lurked among the rows of seats, spraying chemicals whose smell made Jean dizzy and shooting the team dirty looks at each new mark on the polished floor. One of the goalkeepers had been skimping on his cardio, so Assistant Coach Hanson made everyone sprint up and down the sides of the court in lines, passing back and forth to each other. Mistakes usually meant a ball to the helmet. Then they drilled stick checks until Jean’s wrists and shoulders were shaking. He was regretting adding the weights to his racquet. 

“It’s recruitment season,” said Hanson, when Blinov, who never did know when to shut up, whined that he wouldn’t be able to lift so much as a soup spoon. “We’ve got to maintain the reputation of the national team. If someone comes back from our offer saying, oh, this-and-this League team is actually better, then it’s a quick drop to the death of Olympic qualification for this country. Suck it up, Blinov, or go back to Detroit.”  
  
Goldstein—first name Julia, the only other girl on the team besides Thea—whacked Blinov in the chest plate before he could reply. “Can it, Lucas,” she advised him. Either Blinov listened or he was too winded to disobey, because he jogged to the half-court line at Hanson’s order without further bellyaching.

“Not _Detroit,_ ” Jeremy muttered as Jean passed him. Jean bit down on his mouth guard to keep from sniggering.

The last item before practice finished for the day was always a scrimmage. By six-fifteen, Jean was sweating so badly the padding of his neck guard was clammy against his skin, even through his undershirt. Kevin alone was unaffected by the heat. He was as brutal and efficient as ever, and Jean thought O’Donnell in goal might've started crying when Kevin lit the wall up red for the fifteenth consecutive shot. Thea’s face was a sheet of perspiration when she tagged Jean to replace her during the changeout for subs. She tore off her helmet the moment she stepped off the inner court and dumped the contents of her water bottle over her head.

“You won’t have any to drink,” Jean said.

“Eat me, Moreau.”

Jean kicked his own water bottle down the bench at her and clambered over the guard rail. Glanville was attacking with Caballero, which meant low passes and lots of swerving. Jean’s thighs were screaming already. The insides of his gloves were so swampy he could’ve bred mayflies.

Jean stepped onto the court, lifted his racquet, and played.

 

“That could’ve gone better,” said Kevin, as he, Jean, Thea, and Jeremy made their way across the parking lot to their cars. “Everyone was sluggish on their feet today, including you three! If the small issue of a ceiling fan can make you lose your game—“  
  
“Oh my _God,_ ” Jeremy shouted. “Kevin, I strive for compassion, but if I weren’t so tired I’d tackle you again.”

“Again?” asked Thea.

The saga of the duck pond was duly recited. “I’d say I’m sorry to have missed it, but I’m not,” said Thea, “Unless I were taking pictures.”  
  
“Oh shit, my phone. All our phones!” Jeremy halted in the middle of the parking lot and started digging through his bag. “Do you know if we have any rice, Jean?”

“It’s probably too late by now,” said Kevin. “I can buy you and Jean new ones?”  
  
“ _Now_ he takes responsibility,” Jeremy said, but it was indulgent. “Kev, it’s okay. We all make a ridiculous amount of money, I can afford it. Yeah, this is busted,” he said, finding his phone and attempting to turn it on. “I guess I’ve got a good excuse for all the nice folks calling to give me exclusive deals on homeowner’s insurance?”

Thea shook her head. “Is your response to _everything_ optimism?”  
  
“Well,” said Jeremy breezily, “I was pretty bummed I didn’t get a kiss from you, last night.”  
  
Jean missed a step. He wasn’t the only one. Kevin grabbed the nearest thing to him in a bid to stay upright, which happened to be Jean’s sport bag. His forehead rammed painfully into Jean’s teeth. Thea, who still had possession of Jean’s water bottle, chose that moment to take a protracted drink.“ _Only_ me?” she asked, when she had finished.  
  
“No, but Kevin made it up to me already.” Jeremy’s smile widened, and then shrank to a worried frown. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, obviously.”  
  
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who brought this idea up in the first place,” Thea said. She wet her lips (Jean was paying close attention) and cupped Jeremy’s face in her hands. Then Jeremy was rising up onto his tiptoes and Thea was bending down, and they were—god, they were gorgeous, and even more so while they were kissing. Jean felt that same not-envy from when Jeremy had kissed Kevin, slackening his jaw before he could control it. Thea’s fingers curled into Jeremy’s hair and Jeremy made a small, satisfied noise against her mouth. Jean groped blindly for Kevin’s hand and Kevin squeezed back hard when Jean found him.

“Great,” Jeremy squeaked when he and Thea separated. He groaned and ducked his head. “Pretend that was something cool.”

Thea laughed, her voice fainter than normal, and scrubbed roughly through Jeremy’s hair. None of them could figure out what to say, after that, so they separated to head for their respective cars with a number of half-salute, half-bow motions on the part of everyone.

“You were never that smooth with me,” Jean said. It wasn’t quite the level of composure he’d attained after the Kevin-Jeremy kiss, but Jean had been expecting _that_ one.

“I also had never had conversation earlier in the day making it clear you liked me,” Jeremy said, rubbing his thumb distractedly across his lower lip. 

Jean was so, so in love with this man. “Until after we were dating.”  
  
“Exactly,” said Jeremy. He crooked his mouth at Jean. “Before that you were rather standoffish.”  
  
“What? I wasn’t standoffish.”  
  
“Babe. We shared a room for a year and for most of it I thought you wanted to be rid of me. I’m pretty sure I heard you jerk off before I heard you give me a compliment.”  
  
“Fair,” Jean allowed. “But how do you know that was me being standoffish and not me being intimidated by your boundless charm?”

“Well, I know you’re weak for me now,” Jeremy said, and to that, Jean could make no argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy of yore, texting Laila Dermott at 3AM: laila help  
> Laila: j what the fuck  
> Jeremy: i think jeans. u kno. masturbating in the other bed what do i do  
> Laila: *eggplant emoji* *eggplant emoji* join him *raindrops emoji* *winky face emoji*  
> Jeremy: LAILA
> 
> (I promise I love Andreil and both its constituents, Jean’s just a protective grump)
> 
> You’ll notice in future chapters that I’ve chosen to focus on only some of the US Court team members. As much as I’d love to showcase them all, I had to bow to the fact that the story isn’t about them and all the new names would be confusing enough anyway. For reference, here’s the current Court:
> 
> Kevin Day, striker (starting)  
> Julia Goldstein, striker (starting) *Vice Captain in all but name*  
> Jeremiah “Jeremy” Knox, striker  
> Louis Glanville, striker  
> Stephen Caballero, striker  
> Jacob “Jay-Zee” Zachary, striker
> 
> Nam-il Yeom, offensive dealer (starting)  
> Gzim Tailor-West, offensive dealer  
> Kei Eto, offensive dealer
> 
> Patrick Thorne, defensive dealer (starting) **Captain**  
> Lucas Blinov, defensive dealer *Vice Captain, pretty much in name only*
> 
> Theadora “Thea” Muldani, backliner (starting)  
> Robert “Bobby” Hayes, backliner (starting)  
> Jean Moreau, backliner  
> Reid Howard, backliner  
> Phillip Kostopoulous, backliner  
> Marcus “No-He’s-Not” Straight, backliner
> 
> [REDACTED] “G-man” Chatterjee, goalkeeper (starting)  
> Robert O’Donnell, goalkeeper  
> William Fredericks, goalkeeper
> 
> Coach Dwyer (employ of Tetsuji Moriyama; seldom appears to do real coaching shit)  
> Assistant Coach Kamal  
> Assistant Coach Hanson
> 
> There are also four team physicians.


	6. INTERLUDE: KEVIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: alcoholism; some misgendering; descriptions of gender dysphoria; internalized transphobia; a panic attack. It’s a bit of a bumpy ride because Kevin’s Kevin, I’m sorry, but I promise it all ends up well.
> 
> *rubs my greedy little non binary hands together* let’s do this

On Tuesday evenings, Kevin changed out of his day clothes and into ironed slacks and a button-down when he got home. He could have made a habit of changing into the nicer clothes in the locker room with his teammates after practice, but they would ask questions, and Kevin wasn’t sure yet how he would answer. He could have not bothered to dress up at all, but the clothes helped to ground him, to set it apart, what he was doing, and to remind Kevin that it was important.

Besides, he had a date.

There was no answer when Kevin pressed the buzzer on Number 129’s door, so he lifted a fist and knocked. “Mrs. Williams? It’s almost seven.”

A series of shuffles and a muffled thump met his words, and then the scrape-jingle-clack of someone collecting the necessary things to go out. Kevin stepped back as the door swung open. Mrs. Williams had her purse clutched in both hands, a wide-brimmed hat set firmly on her white, close-cropped curls. A cardboard carton of beer was resting on the floor beside her coat stand. 

It wasn’t open. Yet. Mrs. Williams lifted her chin.

“After you,” said Kevin, offering his arm.  
  
The routine of it unstuck Mrs. Williams’ shoes from her carpet. She took Kevin’s arm and let him lead her to the elevator and then out to his car, keeping a crushing grip around her purse handle the whole way. When she had buckled herself into the passenger seat, she said, “How’s that lovely girl of yours?”  
  
“Thea’s wonderful,” Kevin said, clicking on his blinker to pull onto the main road. She had kissed Kevin out the door and reminded him to pick up milk on the way home. Thea had offered to come with Kevin, the first few times, but Kevin was more comfortable if she didn’t make a big deal.

Mrs. Williams patted Kevin’s sleeve. “Good. You make sure you’re treating her right, you hear?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kevin.

The meetings were held in the back room of a Methodist church, white-walled and decorated with cartoon illustrations of the ten commandments. The teen choir rehearsed at the same time, two doors down. Kevin hadn’t been a Christian since he was six, but they’d been working on the end-of-school concert for the last several weeks, and he had a feeling he knew the songs better than the kids did. Certainly, better than their lead soprano. 

In a lost and backwards nook in Kevin’s mind, he remembered asking his mother why the church she took him to in his pinchy shiny shoes didn’t sing like the ones in the movies. “Because they tried to take our Church,” she said, with the _Cúige Chonnacht_ lilt that Kevin hadn’t known was an accent until he’d moved to Evermore. “In order to keep the faith, we had to hide. They thought that because they couldn’t hear us, they had won. They were wrong.”

_I set my foot on the gospel ship  
_ _And the ship began to sail…_

“Good evening, everyone, I’m glad to see you could make it,” said the secretary, once the members had trickled in and taken their places in the circle of metal folding chairs. “This is the regular meeting of the Uptown group of Alcoholics Anonymous, so if any of you wanted the bake sale, that’s down the hall.” She garnered a smattering of chuckles. “My name is Susan, and I’m an alcoholic, and I’ll be your secretary tonight. Is anyone here for the first time?”  


It had been Assistant Coach Kamal who had printed out the information for these meetings and had handed it to Kevin in the hospital, after calling him the ambulance that had brought him there. But it had been Kevin who had decided to go, and to keep going. He wasn’t convinced that nobody at the meetings recognized him—true, not everyone followed Exy, but Kevin had cut his teeth on press releases and had a chess piece tattooed on his face—but he was never confronted about it, and for that he was grateful.

When he’d told Thea his plan to go to that first meeting, Thea had taken all of the alcohol in the apartment and poured it down the sink. “But you love red wine,” Kevin had said, as she shook the last drops from the bottle his new captain Patrick Thorne had given them as a housewarming gift. “Yes,” Thea had said. “And I love you more.”

“It’s been a difficult month,” Mrs. Williams—Charlene, here—said, when it was her turn to speak. “My husband died around this time, three years ago. I’m afraid I embarrassed Kevin here quite terribly last week when he had some friends over.” She gave him a sheepish smile. Kevin moved his fingers in a dismissive gesture. No harm, no foul.  


“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Eddie, quietly. The sentiment was echoed around the circle, and Charlene spoke a bit about what her husband had meant to her, and what she might try, going forward.

The rest of the meeting was an equitable mix, with nothing out of the ordinary. Gina had suffered a setback at work, and was grappling with her feelings. Ryan had earned his ten month sobriety chip. Addy told them about family wedding she’d gone to—“they kept calling me _he,_ but I kept my cool and I didn’t let them get away with it” “I’m proud of you, Addy”—and Kevin wondered how he would feel if Jeremy were in the room, telling that story flipped.  
  
Kevin had been noticing trans people more, since Jeremy had become Court. It wasn’t something Kevin had had much contact with, in his life. Neil had been the first one Kevin had known about, and hadn’t that been a surprise when Neil had told him, because it wasn’t on any of Neil Josten’s paperwork. If it weren’t for Neil’s fear that Riko would use it against him after those winter holidays, Kevin might never have known: Neil had been Nathaniel when Kevin had first met him. In any case it wasn’t what Neil had been at Palmetto for. Neil was there for Kevin to make him Court, and the less Kevin talked about it the less likely someone would overhear and get it to the press and have it affect Neil’s chances. Such had been the extent of Kevin’s thoughts on the matter.

But Jeremy was so open about who he was that it would have been weirder if Kevin _hadn’t_ asked questions. After a handful of comments that Jeremy had gone all twitchy at, and Jean had nearly punched Kevin for, Kevin had looked up some basic information on his laptop.

It had made reasonable sense, but Kevin still felt restless, when he thought about it, like he’d tightened the straps of his uniform pads incorrectly. What did these people mean, when they said they felt they didn’t fit one set of expectations, or that they fit another? Wasn’t that how it was for everybody? You met expectations, or you didn’t and you got punished for it. Kevin’s mother and the master had expected him to be good at Exy, so he was. They had expected him to act like a respectful young man, so he did. Until the Foxes, but that was a confusing, dizzying snarl, because why _did_ Kevin put on a suit to go to formal events instead of a dress like Thea? Except that that was what men did, and Exy players were supposed to be men. But then, what about Thea and Dan and Allison and Renee and Robin and Julia?

_It's the way things are. What’s the point of fighting it?_ Kevin told himself. 

He’d once thought the same about Riko.

Kevin didn’t have much to say when Susan asked him. He’d been consumed with his and Thea’s new arrangement with Jeremy and Jean. He said as much in the most ambiguous terms he could manage, and Susan asked him if he was anxious. Kevin admitted he was. Eddie smiled at him. Charlene patted him again on the arm.

On the way back to the apartment complex Kevin stopped by a corner mart to grab the milk and some groceries for Mrs. Williams—she’d talked about forgetting to eat—ignoring Mrs. Williams’ attempts to pay him. She permitted Kevin to set the bags on her kitchen table, and then while Kevin watched she opened the window and dumped the carton of beer, still sealed, out onto the street below. Kevin concentrated on checking the apples for pockmarks. Jeremy would have been worried for passers-by. Kevin didn’t much care.

“You’re very kind, to an old woman like me,” Mrs. Williams said as Kevin left. Kevin was not used to anyone thinking of him as _kind_. He’d just been paying Mrs. Williams back, for all the times she’d put up with him. She never believed him when he told her that.

 

“Good, we’ll have enough for breakfast tomorrow,” Thea said appreciatively, as Kevin strode through the door, holding the gallon of milk aloft. She was reading that book, the novel her mother had given her that she hated but kept soldiering through anyway, so her mother wouldn’t feel she was bad at gift-giving. Kevin deposited milk in the refrigerator and sat on the arm of her recliner.

“One of the girls at the meeting is transgender,” Kevin said, as Thea set her book face-down to mark the page and stretched the ache from her back.

“Mm,” said Thea. She knew Kevin couldn’t give any specifics. 

The dizzy pads-not-fitting feeling started again, pounding around Kevin’s ears. Nausea licked up his throat. “I think I might be,” said Kevin, and the world 

was

_sound…._

“Kevin. Kevin Day. Kevin.” Thea was kneeling in front of where he was curled up on the floor, the foot of the recliner firm against the bottoms of his feet. “Kevin. Do you want me to call someone?”

Kevin shook his head. He couldn’t speak right now. However long he’d been out, it was enough for Thea to find a blanket and wrap him up in it. It was boiling, but holding the edges closed around him helped Kevin pull himself back together. His knee and hip ached. He must have landed on them when he’d fallen out of the chair.

Thea pressed his shoulder. “Do you want me to listen?” 

Neither of them were good at emotional discussions. Thea had assured Kevin that she would rather Kevin talk to her than be afraid he was a nuisance, however, and for his part Kevin tried to be there for Thea, to return the favor. He made himself sit up and nod his head _yes_.

Kevin tried to explain it, he really did, and Thea was doing her best to understand, he could tell, but he wasn’t getting it across, this thing making Bowen knots of his guts . Thea kept comparing it to something Kevin _wanted,_ other than something he thought maybe he _was,_ and it was frustrating and Kevin didn’t want to shout at Thea but she wasn’t _getting it._ After an hour of steadily escalating tension Thea pressed her lips together and called Jeremy.

“Thea! What a nice surprise!”  
  
“You’re on speaker,” Thea said. On the other end, Kevin could picture Jeremy reacting to her tone. “I know this is sudden, and a lot to ask, but Kevin has something he’s been trying to explain to me.” She curled a hand over Kevin’s knee, _I’m not mad at you,_ and Kevin felt some of his irritation bleed away.

Jeremy asked a lot of questions, and Kevin tried to answer them truthfully, even when he didn’t know what the answer was.As they talked, Kevin could feel Thea unlocking from her rigid posture; Jeremy’s matter-of-fact demeanor was working on her as well. When Jeremy began to include her in the conversation, she seemed to be able to follow his reasoning.

“I’ll email over some resources,” said Jeremy, the clack of a keyboard undercutting his words. Jeremy was an enthusiastic typist. “I can put you in touch with some of the people I know from USC, and I bet I can find some people closer. Kev, hon, do you have any thoughts about pronouns? I want to give them your contact information if you agree, but I don’t want them to call you the wrong thing when they reach out.”  
  
“No,” said Kevin, panic stirring.

“That’s okay,” Jeremy assured him. Thea stroked soothingly over Kevin’s side. “I can send over a list of pronouns as well, if you decide you want to go by something other than _he_.”

The suggestion kindled something cautiously bright, like a tiny starburst, in Kevin’s stomach. “I think so?”  
  
“Sweet,” said Jeremy. “Until you pick something, _if_ you pick something different, what do you think about going by _they_?”  
  
Kevin had been part of a _they,_ once. He bit down on the side of his tongue and tasted blood. “No.”

“Okay, that’s no problem. If it’s not you, you don’t have to use it. I’ll send that list.” Jeremy stayed on until Kevin assured him that he was fine, really, Jeremy, go to sleep, and afterwards curled into Thea’s arms.

“I’m here,” Thea murmured into Kevin’s hair. “There’s nothing, ever, that’s going to change that.”

 

The first pronouns Kevin tried were _co_ and _cos_. “Just around you three,” co said, clasping cos hands behind cos back for strength. “I don’t want to tell anyone. I don’t need another scandal in my career.”

Jeremy looked sad as he agreed, but he did, and so did Jean and Thea. Kevin spotted Jean scribbling cos pronouns on his hand with a pen, and turned to hide the grateful wobble of cos knees. Thea had done the same on the inside of her elbow. Jeremy didn’t seem to have trouble remembering pronouns, no matter how unusual, but Kevin supposed Jeremy had an inside perspective.

 

The second pronouns were _thon_ and _thons_. Kevin liked the way they flicked against thon front teeth. They still weren’t right.

 

Xe wanted to call Neil. Xe didn’t want to call Neil, because they’d never spoken about it after Neil’s initial revealing conversation. Xe wanted to talk to Jeremy, but if xe kept doing that about this same thing then Jeremy would get annoyed. People always did. Xe wanted to say, _I think I’m like you two except the other direction, except not all the way, except on a different axis, and Neil, you like math, help me understand._ Xe wanted to say, _this trying, I think that I like it._

When Thea called xir her _partner_ instead of her _boyfriend,_ Kevin had to put a hand to xir fast-beating heart, because oh, that felt right in a way xe hadn’t thought about. When Jean bent the rules of the language he loved to avoid referring to Kevin with the masculine, Kevin couldn’t stop xir smile, or the way xe kissed him. When Jeremy said at dinner, _Jean you look handsome, Thea you look beautiful, Kevin you look lovely_ it was such a little thing but pan-seared salmon had never tasted so good.

Xe wanted to say, _I’m scared, because I think, maybe, this is something I’m allowed._

 

The sixth pronouns were _ey_ and _em_ , and Kevin knew they didn’t fit as soon as ey heard someone use them the first time. “It’s the same letter as Exy,” ey said to Jeremy, annoyed. “I thought they’d be perfect.”  
  
“Don’t worry. It will take the time it takes,” was Jeremy’s advice, which was easier said than done.

 

It was exhausting. Kevin just wanted it to be finished, so ae didn’t have to spend every day thinking about what ae wanted to _call_ aerself and how ae wanted to _present_ aerself and the resources Jeremy had forwarded were invaluable and Kevin was grateful for them, but it was a whole mess ae didn’t want to have to deal with. Ae tried to take it back and be a man again, but it was like ae had forgotten how. The male gender sat all bulky and misshapen on aer now, something Kevin might have been able to fit into as a child but had outgrown to the point of parody. 

Exy didn’t care what Kevin’s gender was. The perceptions surrounding it, yes, but the game itself? Untainted by such material concerns. All that mattered was talent and hard work. On the Court, Kevin Day was not a gender, but a force of nature. The ball slammed home in Kevin’s racquet and ae thought, _It doesn’t matter what the fuck words I use, as long as I can do this._

Neil had used similar words once. They had been panted against the warping boards of the Foxhole Court in the dead dark of midnight, when the only illumination came from the overhead lights and the court showed itself for what it was: a haven, a gauntlet, poor and small and salvation. It wasn’t a home. It was oxygen.

_“You gave your game to me.”_  
  
_“But who are you?”_  
  
_“What?”_  
  
_“I thought you’d understand.”_

_A staggering three steps, sinking down to one knee on the third. A desperate shot fired off, glancing off the edge of the goal, not going in. But Neil heaved himself to his feet and plodded after it, until a plod became a jog became a run became impossible._

_“This is who I am, Kevin. I never have to think about what that means, when I’m here. I gave my game to you. Shouldn’t you show me who that is?”_

Nobody else had come that close to getting it. They made jokes about Kevin becoming one with Exy. Idiots: it wasn’t that easy. The romanticized narrative of losing oneself in the game was just that, a romance and a fantasy. To play Exy meant constant awareness. Reacting, thinking, planning, moving; there was no time for wondrous drifting when your arms almost ripped free from the sockets and the thousand tiny injuries built up over weeks of practices throbbed across your body.

“ _I step on the court and I feel like I’m flying!”_ Bullshit. False memory. Here was the court: blisters, gasping breaths, pushing past trembling limbs. Gratification came from overcoming and making the shot anyway. It was hard work _,_ not starry-eyed freefall. You had complete commitment or failed. The court had no patience with dishonesty. You could not flirt your way out of a goal the way Allison did with her speeding tickets. There was direct correlation, _and causation,_ Aaron would make Kevin specify, between effort and results.

Exy was Kevin knowing what had to be done, and doing it. 

It was clarity.

_“Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. How does it feel to be back on the largest Exy stage in the nation? Like returning to the Garden of Eden, I’ll bet.”_

Evermore was as far from paradise as blood on the sheets of a brother. It didn’t matter. It was Court. _So was Kevin._

 

Out of uniform life was more complex. It always was, in everything. Still, there were things Kevin could do there that didn’t need an hour-long crisis about the intersection of identity and this influx of new vocabulary. Like pitting cherries. Or lifting weights. Or where Kevin was now, trapped between Thea’s thighs as ae ate her out against the bathroom door.

“ _Oh,_ ” Thea gasped, arching. Her legs were corded muscle, but Kevin knew what ae was doing, and they were shaking. The panties Thea had been wearing were looped around her ankle, crushed under Kevin’s left knee. Neither of them much cared. Kevin splayed a hand over Thea’s hip and pressed in harder.

“You’re so good, Kevin. _Fuck_.”

It was a special kind of rush, being able to render Thea desperate and moaning with pleasure. When she came against Kevin’s tongue the swell of pride was heady. She slid to the floor, trembling, and grabbed Kevin’s jaw for a kiss. It was bruising, and slick with the taste of Thea between them. 

Thea’s nails dug into the underside of Kevin’s chin. Kevin whimpered. Get in the shower,” Thea panted. “I’m going to blow your fucking mind.”

(So, not _everything_ in Kevin’s life inseparably tied to aer current predicament. It was a nice change.)

 

“‘ _She_ and _her_ are always an option,” Jeremy said, after the tenth unsuccessful set, as the four of them took a stroll through the park after dinner. “Just because you don’t feel a strong connection to a feminine gender doesn’t mean you can’t go by she/her.”

“They’re not right,” Kevin said, clenching zir—it was “zir” today—fists. “It’s like those are too much. I want there to be something like that, but not _so_ far, and I know that’s stupid—“  
  
“It’s not stupid,” said Jeremy firmly. He thought for a moment, eyes going unfocused, and then snapped his fingers. “Here. What about these? Thea, do you have a pen and paper?”

Thea fished out the requested items from her purse and handed them over. Jeremy wrote something, bracing the paper on his thigh, and then held it up for Kevin’s inspection.  
  
“Sigh and her?”  
  
“ _See_ and _hear,_ ” Jeremy said, pointing to the words, which read “sie/hir/hirself.” “Though _sigh_ is a perfectly fine pronunciation too, if you like it better. The third one, the reflexive, would be _hear-self._ ”

Kevin reached out and took the paper, studying it, as Jeremy beamed. “I’ll try them,” sie said. 

“How do you know all this?” Jean asked, leaning on Kevin to examine the paper as well. “Kevin, Thea, I think we’re dating a database.”  
  
“I told you, I was involved in Pride. And the GSA.” Jeremy shrugged. “I may have been the president of both.”

“I’m beginning to think you were in every club in college,” Thea said, resting her elbow on the top of Jeremy’s head. Jeremy made a face and batted her off. Thea was unperturbed.

_“Sie_ and _hir,_ ” Jean said in Kevin’s ear. “ _C’est pas mal.”_

Kevin folded the paper carefully and tucked it into hir pocket. “ _Peut-être.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil: my sexuality is Exy. And Andrew.
> 
> Kevin: my gender is Exy. No Andrew. Well, sort of Andrew.
> 
> Andrew, kicking them both in the shins: great because mine are “fuck” and “off”
> 
> (After Wymack and the Foxes, Kevin was in a place where sie COULD accept that kind of help from Coach Kamal. I’m emotional about it.)
> 
> (I had Kevin settle on sie/hir in part because of the symbolism in the way they’re pronounced and in part because their similarity to she/her would help combat the barrage of he/him that Kevin gets daily. After Kevin retires and starts expanding the circle who knows hir gender identity, hir pronouns may change again. Or maybe not. It’s up to hir.)
> 
> (Regarding the use of the word “brother:” binary language is an odd duck for non-binary people. The concept of brotherhood is presented a lot of different ways in the AFTG series, and I think that Kevin would still feel an identification with it, in both the good and the bad ways it’s been shown to hir.)


	7. West Virginia Is Not Coachella And Honestly Thank God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: alcoholism; reference to K fretting about healthy eating; implied mayonnaise

“This is a joke,” Jean said, holding up the glittery mesh top.

“I only wish. They’ve upgraded from fliers,” said Thea, giving her own spangled abomination a considering sneer. The back of it read “Starstruck Gentlemen’s Club”. Jean wondered if the club was for gentlemen or containing gentlemen. The amount of pink sparkling dust coating his hands suggested the latter. Or both.

Usually, the aura of _don’t fuck with me_ that Jean and Thea projected in a three-foot radius around them kept them left alone. Street salespeople were an aggravating exception. Jean wondered if the thankless humiliation they suffered day in and day out made them vapid, or simply unafraid of death.

Thea pinched the shirt between a thumb and forefinger and dropped it on the sidewalk. Jean, who had been subject to several of Jeremy’s rants about littering, doubled back to toss it in the nearest trash can. He zipped his own into the outside pocket of his gym bag. “I thought I’d give it to Kevin,” he told Thea. One day, after Kevin had been particularly harsh in hir censure of hir teammates, the normally even-tempered Glanville had arrived at afternoon practice with a rhinestone-studded bracelet embossed with the words “Queen Bitch.” Glanville had alerted the team to this new acquisition by throwing at Kevin’s head and turning his back on the subsequent angry sputtering. Since then, Hayes, Chatterjee, Caballero, Howard, Blinov, and Goldstien had all gifted Kevin different wearable bits of glitter. Jean’s favorite was either the “Sweet 16” birthday crown or the necktie festooned with sequins glued into the shape of an Exy stick.

The back of Thea’s hand brushed Jean’s. They shared a moment of quiet admiration for everything Kevin was on the Court, everything sie had the power to achieve. _Nothing could have prepared the world for Kevin Day,_ Jean thought. He nudged Thea’s hand again.

“White sauce barbecue. Not 1960’s-themed, so you’ll have to settle for vaguely hypnotic decor.” Thea steered Jean towards a sandwich board advertising the daily specials in wavy marker. Her lipstick today was electric blue. Jean didn’t imagine gym restrooms were conductive to applying cosmetics, but Thea had turned out perfectly made-up for every one of their lunch dates to boot. Against the blue her teeth were very white. If Jean kissed her, how far would the color spread?

The interior of the restaurant was indeed vaguely hypnotic—there were lots of dual-chromatic thin-line prints and mirrors in unexpected places, so the floor plan seemed implausible. A server in a black apron showed Thea and Jean to a booth. “You’re sitting on something,” said Thea, as the server disappeared with their drink orders. “Not the seat.”

Jean laced his fingers in front of him. “Jeremy’s birthday is coming up.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised that he’s a summer baby?”

“He is the type, isn’t he.” They shared a smile. “I’ve had something planned for him for a while, and I wanted to ask if you and Kevin wanted to be a part of it.”  
  
The vinyl seat squeaked as Thea resettled her legs. “You’ve asked Kevin to meet us here.”  
  
“Yes,” admitted Jean. “I didn’t think it would be a problem. Is it?”  
  
“You can give hir that hideous shirt.”  
  
Fortunately Kevin could be punctual when it was something sie cared about. “I got your text ten minutes ago,” sie said, sliding into the booth beside Thea. The sunglasses Kevin was wearing made hir look like an exotic bug, until sie swept them up to perch on the top of hir head, where they made hir look instead like a movie star. “Couldn’t you have picked this place ahead of time?”  
  
“No,” said Thea and Jean together. “It would ruin the adventure,” Thea explained, propping her chin on her fist. “Jean and I are very spontaneous.”

She shot a sideways glance between the two of them, a faint glimmer of humor. Jean bit the inside of his cheek, and Kevin coughed to hide a laugh. Of the members of this relationship, only Jeremy was comfortable doing something without extensive planning first.  


The server returned with the drinks and two menus, and promptly fetched a third of each for Kevin before leaving them to decide. Kevin didn’t bother to look at the choices. Likely sie had spent the walk to the restaurant cross-referencing every dish with the team nutritionist’s meal plan. “Jean?”  
  
“Jeremy’s turning twenty-nine on July eleventh,” Jean said. “There’s an outdoor concert of a band he likes that I’m taking him to. If you two are able to come along, I thought that afterwards, we could have sex.”

“Finally,” said Kevin.

It was not the first conversation of this sort that they had had. They had all expressed that this next step in their combined relationship was one they wanted to take together. Determining the desire had been easy. Following through, less so. The choreographic nightmare presented by their intense training schedule, outside-of-practice engagements, and general exhaustion had placed them in a state of deadlock. Last week there had been a promising date until Thea had showed up to practice with a fresh box of tampons and a glower to rival Kevin’s whenever the League suggested a change to hir mother’s rulebook. Within an hour Thea had made Caballero cry in the middle of the Court. Again.

Also, Jean was not as young as he’d been in college, and if they’d be doing anything rigorous his hips had a tendency to go numb unless he was forewarned enough to stretch first. Exy was a vicious sport.

(Jeremy had once commented that the makers of Aleve should send a thank-you note to him, personally, for funding all their vacations. The locker room debate on IcyHot versus Tiger Balm versus Arnica had collected a Google Document score chart that was updated daily. Jean was a staunch proponent of Tiger Balm, but Jeremy, Thea, and Kevin had all switched sides to Arnica. Traitors.)

A nauseatingly striped theme restaurant on a downtown side-street was not the most _atmospheric_ of places to bring up sex; or, it was atmospheric, but decidedly the wrong atmosphere. Jean was frustrated enough to overlook it. Lying in bed last night, listening to Jeremy’s sleepy ramble about how he loved Jean and he loved sex with Jean and also Thea and Kevin were so hot, babe, oh my god I’m dying, Jean had decided to take matters into his own hands. He had pulled up the concert page for _Hobgoblin’s Thunder_ and paid the exorbitant fee to upgrade his and Jeremy’s VIP tickets to “VIP-plus-one.” Money wasn’t an issue, even with eighty percent of his earnings sent to the Moriyamas. The shot Jeremy had missed that day because he’d been too busy staring at Kevin’s ass, was.  
  
(Thea had teased him until Jean had pointed out that she was watching Kevin and Jeremy twist through overhand angles instead of keeping Blinov from passing forward.)

Thea pulled up the calendar app on her phone and began typing into it. “I’d planned on Skyping the girls that night. Dan is flying up to visit Allison and Renee. I’ll ask them to call earlier.”  
  
“Should I wear my fancy lingerie?” Kevin drawled.

Jean’s smile was sharp. “If you want.” Kevin bit hir lip, and Jean wondered if Kevin actually _had_ fancy lingerie. It was—a thought.

“We can ask Jeremy together this afternoon,” said Jean. “I had a feeling you two would want to see his face. I have an idea of how he will react.”  
  
“He’ll blush,” said Thea, fondly. “Ah.” She turned her phone around to show Kevin and Jean that Allison Reynolds had written back to show her support.

“…Is that anatomically possible?”

“No,” said Thea.  
  
“Yes,” said Kevin.  
  
They looked at hir.  
  
“Palmetto had thin walls,” sie said, and signaled the waiter to take their orders.

* * *

 

Concerts were something that Jean had learned to appreciate. What at first had been chaos, unfamiliar bodies, the twang of a guitar string a half-step too sharp in the way studio recordings could avoid, resolved itself into energy, connection, the solid proof that this was real, and could never be experienced again. Concerts were irrefutably _present._ Music was a living thing, Sara Alverez had told Jean once, tossing bills into the open violin case of a subway busker. It changed you, when you heard it, and your changing, changed it in turn, an endless counter-reflection of emotion and intention that was truer to the soul than language spoken. _If you don’t like someone’s favorite song,_ _my grandfather told me,_ Alverez had said, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, _then listen with different ears._

On the heat-parched grass, watching the beads of sweat on the pianist’s forehead fall the keys below her, Jean felt the wire thrum of of the chord progression bounce through himself and the audience around him, and thought: _I am here, and I am now, and I am listening._

Jeremy was dancing. He had pulled Thea in with an upturned palm and they were laughing, Thea quiet and Jeremy loud and unashamed. The style never matched the music. First it was a country two-step, then it was a tango, and now it was a waltz to a song in 4/4 time, Thea ducking to turn under Jeremy’s arm despite the several inches she had on his height. Jeremy spun her out and then pulled her close, sneaking an arm around her waist with the impudent finesse of a gold-hearted scoundrel. He whispered something into her ear that had her throwing her head back. The multicolored lights from the stage splashed over them both. The artificial shades painted them iridescent, and that, too, was a type of music.

Beside Jean, tucked in the closeness of their overlapping arms, Kevin watched Jeremy and Thea with a lazy summer smile flirting along the curve of hir lips. Jean and Thea and Jeremy had all been keeping an eye on Kevin all night, conscious of the beer cans clutched in negligent hands and littering the dirt underfoot, but Kevin was loose-postured, nursing a bottle of water and content to see hir partners make fools of themselves. Under guise of shifting his weight, Jean dropped his head to Kevin’s shoulder, brushed a kiss against the clinging cotton. Dangerous. They were in public, and they might be seen. Tonight, Jean was feeling dangerous. Kevin slung an arm about Jean’s hips and left it there.

“Dance with us,” said Jeremy, suddenly before them. He was breathless. Thea shared his space, linked elbows, swaying hips. She reached for Jean’s arm.

“I don’t,” said Kevin. 

“It’s my birthday,” Jeremy coaxed. 

And really, when Jeremy asked like that, peeking up through his eyelashes and his T-shirt sticking to his chest with sweat, would Kevin have said no?

They moved together in a continuous circle, joined at shoulders and thighs, four sets of hands tangling, pulling, holding tight. Thea’s braids draped over Jean’s shoulder and batted him in the face. Kevin’s arms were around both Jean and Jeremy. They were a creature with four heads and Jeremy’s mouth screaming the lyrics, athletes and lovers and gods. The music bore them up, over the park, over the city, and they laughed and swore and bent their knees. They were an inundation.

“Take me home,” Jeremy panted against Kevin’s cheek, Thea’s temple, Jean’s mouth. “I want—“  
  
So did they all.

They fell together in the tangled-sheet center of Jean and Jeremy’s bed, teeth on skin, hands between parted thighs. The dip of Kevin’s tongue into the hollow of Jeremy’s throat was a prayer. The scratch of Thea’s nails at the base of Jean’s spine was an exultation. Jean shuddered from mouth to mouth to hungry mouth, and when Jeremy pressed steady fingers into Thea’s warmth, Jean wasn’t sure which one of them moaned the loudest. He fumbled for his waistband and Kevin was already there.

Jean learned:  
  
Kevin’s eyes went hazy if Jeremy whispered praise as he sank down onto hir.  
  
Jean learned:

It was indeed possible to fit three different hands around his dick at the same time.

Jean learned:

Thea arched her back hard enough to dislodge a backliner’s weight when she came.

 

The bed posed a problem.   
  
“There’s no way four people are fitting in that,” Thea said. Kevin, who had gone boneless and biddable after hir orgasm, nodded against her shoulder. They were dressed in assorted clean gym clothes belonging to Jeremy and Jean—clothes that had been part of a communal drawer for so long that Jean wasn’t sure whence each piece had originated, and rather liked it that way. It felt secure.

“Maybe edgeways?” Jeremy suggested.

“Not for those of us over six feet,” said Jean. “Half our bodies would be hanging out into space.”

“It’s not my fault I’m dating giants,” Jeremy said, nudging him. “Let me think. Follow me.” He lifted the edge of the comforter, yanked it entirely off the bed, and dragged it into the hall. 

Jeremy’s plan became apparent as he dropped the comforter on the rug in the living room and picked up the coffee table to place it against the wall. “Floor sleeping is good for the spine,” he said, to Kevin’s noise of dissatisfaction. 

Sensing the approach of a tired-Kevin tantrum, Jean fetched the top sheet from the bedroom and four of the five pillows. “Lie down,” he told Kevin, shoving a pillow at hir stomach. “Unless you’d rather be sleeping alone?”

They arranged themselves with their heads to the television stand, atop the comforter in lieu of a mattress and covered by the sheet, turned lengthwise (“If any of you complain that it doesn’t cover your feet, just know that I have no sympathy” “Harsh, _Jérème”_ ). On the ends were Jeremy and Thea, Jeremy because he liked to stretch out his legs and Thea because she’d set the earliest alarm. Despite his whinging, Kevin found the accommodations bearable. Sie dropped Thea’s around hir waist, threw a leg over Jean and Jeremy, and within minutes was snoring.

“Happy Birthday,” Jean said to the top of Jeremy’s head. 

Jeremy snuggled closer, nose to Jean’s chest, and breathed in.

 

Waking up was a series of poor decisions.

Jean’s internal clock woke him before sunrise. The only light in the living room was the blinking green status light of the DVD player. Jean could see it because sometime in the night Kevin had put him in a kind of headlock, and his neck was tilted back. With a number of grunts and pops, Jean extricated himself from the pile of limbs and limped to the kitchen. Even his armpits ached.

Two blearily sucked-down cups of coffee later—thank fuck for programmable coffee makers—Jean was feeling a more like a human, and less like a potato the peeler had taken a particular grudge against. His third cup of coffee was drunk much slower, and Jean leaned against the counter and watched the sunrise through the window, one eye on the sleeping forms in the living room as they gathered definition in the soft-edged, growing light, resolving into parts of Jean’s partners that made a whole, or three pressed together as flush as kisses; the fluff of Kevin’s hair, the swell of Thea’s hip, the careless throw of Jeremy’s exposed left foot.

He thought, _I do not deserve this, but I will take it with both hands._

The blaring chime of an alarm shattered the grey morning quiet. Thea’s arm shot up and smacked at various places—she got Kevin’s head once, Jean was entertained to see, but Kevin showed no sign of alertness—until it landed on her phone. She swiped off the alarm and struggled upright enough to collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Morning,” said Jean, sipping his coffee.

Thea groaned.

“I guess Kevin had a point about the floor.”  
  
This time the groan was accompanied by a rude gesture.

Taking pity on her, Jean poured another cup of coffee and carried it over to the couch. The smell of it perked Thea up enough to take it from him. “ _Merci_ ,” she grunted.

Jean hid a smile at her accent.

“What? Everyone else speaks French to you.” Thea’s morning petulance snuck something fragile under the cage of Jean’s ribs. A good feeling. Leftover eyeliner she hadn’t been able to scrub away with Jeremy’s face wash was smeared down her cheek. Jean wanted to trace it with his thumb.

He took another sip of coffee.

The second alarm to go off was Jeremy’s. He woke in a similar manner to Thea, though he lurched for the coffee pot before the couch. There were lines on his face where the pillow had wrinkled. “G’morn,” he mumbled.

“How goes the grand floor-sleeping plan?”

Jeremy aimed a kick at Jean’s ankles, missed, and let his head flop to the back of the sofa. “M’ great. Peachy. Play a whole game.”

“Don’t tell Kamal, or he’ll make you actually do it,” Thea advised.

“Fuck Exy,” said Jeremy, muffled by the cushions.

On the floor, Kevin snorted. They all looked down at hir. Sie snuffled and twisted to sprawl on hir front like a starfish, mouth open and drooling.

“Oh dear,” said Thea. “You’ve upset the Queen.”

Fortunately, laughter didn’t wake Kevin any more than head smacks did.

 

Jean would have reason to think about Thea’s words, when he came back to the apartment with breakfast. They had practice at 9:30 today—the Court schedule was erratic and changed every two weeks, to accommodate the Ravens’ sixteen hour days—and there hadn’t been enough in the fridge to fuel four fully grown Exy players until noon. Thea had wanted to drop her skirt and blouse off at the cleaner’s, so he arrived alone. Raised voices from the direction of the bedroom made him pause. 

“Leave it,” Kevin was saying. Jean slipped off his shoes and tiptoed to press his ear against the wall. “It’s not important, I’m telling you.”  
  
“Of course it’s important, something’s bothering you,” Jeremy’s voice argued. There was the creak of bedsprings.

“Leave it, I said!”  
  
“Kevin.”  
  
“I want a drink, Jeremy. It happens. Stop making it such a big deal!” 

Jeremy sucked in a breath at the same time as Jean. “Is there something I can do?”  
  
“You can leave it alone! I’ve handled it before!”  
  
“Was it the beer at the concert last night?”  
  
“Not that.” The bedsprings again. Jean heard the sounds of Kevin pacing. “When I was with the Foxes, there was a club we’d go, on Fridays. We drank a lot. The lights, and the music, and the dancing, they reminded me, that’s all.”  
  
“Kevin, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Oh my God, stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

“We could’ve stayed in.”  
  
“No!” The floor shook. Kevin had stomped hir foot. “I wanted to go! I had a good time! It was your birthday! I can do a birthday, I’m not going to lock myself in a room with a liquor cabinet just because I went to a concert!”

“I’m listening, but I want you to know that I still want to help. When you raise your voice, I feel like the care I’m offering is being rejected,” said Jeremy, carefully. Jean recognized the phrasing from his own arguments with Jeremy, especially in the early days, when the tiniest hint of kindness made him lash out.

“Maybe it is.”  
  
“Kevin—“  
  
“I’m leaving.” The bedroom door swung open. Kevin stalked through it, dressed in hir clothes from last night. Sie didn’t acknowledge Jean as sie stomped down the hallway and out the front door. It slammed shut behind hir.

From the bedroom, a choked sob.

Jean entered with a soundless step, sitting down on the bed beside Jeremy. He gathered Jeremy into his arms. Jeremy pressed his face into Jean’s neck.

“You heard that.” It wasn’t a question. They’d spoken about Jean’s penchant for eavesdropping. Jeremy wasn’t a fan, but there were some parts of Evermore that faded more slowly than others. 

“Will Kevin be all right?” asked Jeremy. His voice wobbled.

“I’ll text Thea,” Jean said, and did so. When he’d gotten confirmation that Thea was on it, he dropped his phone to the mattress and rubbed wide circles into Jeremy’s back. Jeremy’s tears were hot against Jean’s skin.

“I thought everything was going okay,” he said, letting Jean stroke his hair. “Great, even. I know it’s not Kevin’s fault, but I thought after last night sie could, I don’t know, let me in a little more?”

“Mm,” said Jean. He didn’t blame Kevin for hir alcohol problem, but he wasn’t so sure he could absolve hir from yelling at Jeremy.

“I don’t…I don’t want it to be _us_ dating _them,_ or separate couples again. I want it to be all four of us together. We _work._ Or I thought we did.” Jeremy buried his face in Jean’s shirt again and dissolved into wracking sobs. Jean murmured soothing nothings into his ear and petted every part of him he could reach.

Was Jeremy correct? Emotional hyperbole aside, it was true that last night had felt like an equal collaboration. A relationship with four points of a compass. They had dated each other in their original couples far longer than they had been a unit. Yet Jean could feel the beginning flutter of agreement at Jeremy’s words. Jeremy was enough. Jeremy would always be enough. Imagining giving up Kevin and Thea, though, that ripped through the core of him with an intensity that was terrifying.   
  
How could he go back to keeping them at arm’s length when his arms were where they fit so perfectly?

Not without a fight. Jean pulled Jeremy so close it bordered on painful, and Jeremy clung to him as if trying to force himself under the layer of Jean’s skin. They would fix this. They had to. Jean had come too far to allow anything less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew, to Jeremy, a few years down the road: why the shit are you over here with us instead of with one of the three people you’re actually fucking
> 
> Jeremy, who once set his own leg hair on fire for a dare: sometimes I like being the tall one
> 
> Neil: Andrew if you’re going to kill him at least wait until after playoffs
> 
> (Yeah, Jeremy’s a bit old for a new Court member, but the 2012 Olympics threw recruitment out of whack; the coaches etc. wanted to focus on refining the team that they had instead of adding new elements. It’s also why Thorne, Glanville, and O’Donnell are still around, despite their ages. Blinov is probably close to retirement himself, but he’s Blinov. He could have a rubber band for an ACL and keep smiling.)
> 
> (There’s nothing wrong with period sex. Given the chance to plan, however, Thea’s of the opinion that she’s Not Fucking Dealing With That Bullshit, Thank You)


	8. There Isn't Any Vomit In This One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dissociation, dry retching, forced outing, misogyny, implied homophobia, panic attacks, misgendering of Kevin by people sie isn’t out to yet

 

Kevin refused to speak to anyone but Coach Kamal during practice, and that only grudgingly. Thea rolled her eyes and banged her racquet against Jean’s in silent solidarity as they paused to stretch their hamstrings. Jean had forgotten how obstinate Kevin could be when sie decided sie had been insulted.

Jeremy kept talking to Kevin like normal, as if he expected sheer determination would convince hir to respond. Failure made his shots push to speeds he couldn’t control. After the third time he’d inadvertently hit Glanville in the face, Thea yanked him aside, cutting off Coach Kamal, who had been about to do the same thing. Kamal waved her ahead and returned to berating Goldstien for her stride length.

“What did Thea say?” Jean asked, when next they crossed paths, gulping water on the bench.

“That I should give Kevin a few days to cool off.” Jeremy’s lower lip jutted mulishly. “That’s not good communication.”

_That’s Kevin,_ Jean thought. He capped his water bottle and helped Jeremy adjust the strap of his helmet.

“Lovebirds!” Blinov shouted, rocketing past. Hayes checked him against the wall three steps later. Jean decided to offer his own services the next time Hayes asked someone to house-sit his labradoodle while he visited his daughter.

In the stands, there was a ripple of black against black. Jean wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been gazing past Hayes’ retreating form; as it was, the encroaching vee of uniform-clad figures caught and held his entire attention. He could identify the new freshmen easily. They were out of step. Messy. 

“Jean,” said Jeremy’s soft voice. 

“ _Hein?_ ”

Strong, gloved fingers caught his chin and turned it. Jeremy’s eyes were clear, and maple-bark brown. There were no maple trees in the Nest. “I’m with you,” said Jean.

“Glad to hear it. Let’s kick G-man’s ass.”

“I thought Chatterjee was a goalkeeper? Did he change positions to striker when I wasn’t looking? Or were you only speaking for yourself?”

“Yep, you guessed it. I’m the most important person here.” Jeremy kept a light touch on Jean’s back until they parted ways to their places on the court.

 

Afternoon practice was no better. Jeremy replaced fruitless attempts at smalltalk with gazing anxiously at Kevin every time he wasn’t in direct possession of a ball. It resulted in quite a few missed passes. Jean, after the intrusion of the Ravens as silent watchers, couldn’t make himself stop staring at the large printed raven at center court. Despite the fact that he knew it was impossible, his brain did his best to convince him that he could feel the feathers buzz through the soles of his court shoes. Kamal kept having to tell him to ease up his grip on his racquet.

Ten minutes into cradle pick-ups Coach Hanson banged through the double doors to the outside and struck up a harried conversation with Kamal. Whatever Hanson had in the folder he was carrying, it convinced Kamal to turn around and exit towards the stairs that led to the administrative offices. _That_ boded ill. 

“Day, Muldani, Knox, Moreau, get over here.”

_Fuck._

“Yes, Coach?” said Jeremy, jogging to the sideline. Jean saw that the rest of the team—who had not missed the exchange with Coach Kamal—was watching attentively. Caballero elbowed O’Donnell in the ribs. Jean tried to block them out as he followed Kevin and Thea to crowd around Coach Hanson.

“You know how much scrutiny we’re under this time of year,” Hanson said, teeth gritted. Whatever they had done—or Hanson _thought_ they had done—he was furious. A cold prickle worked its way down Jean’s neck. “Everyone who cares about Exy is watching us and theorizing about this year’s picks for Court. We cannot afford a public embarrassment. So _what,_ ” he flipped open the folder, “is _this._ ”

The air in the court was suddenly very thin.

Pictures. Pictures of the four of them _last night,_ dancing at the concert, with their arms around each other and their hips _far_ too close. Jean and Jeremy kissed as Kevin and Thea draped themselves around them. But that wasn’t the worst, oh no. That could still be written off as a friendly double-date.

Hanson flipped through the photographs—they looked like they had been printed off a news website— and Jean saw that somehow, someone had followed them to the parking garage beside his and Jeremy’s apartment. There was Thea laughing as she slid a hand to grope Jeremy’s ass. There was Kevin kissing Jean against the hood of the car, Jean’s hand rucking up Kevin’s shirt to grip hir waist. 

Jean remembered the pull of Kevin’s skin under his palm, the way Kevin had trembled. Kevin had been nervous, kissing in the open. _Nobody’s here to see us,_ Jean had said. _Who waits in a parking garage? We’re safe._

Jean had told Kevin it was safe.

There was Jeremy blatantly feeling up Kevin as he buzzed them up to the apartment. Thea and Jean leaving through that front door the next morning, Thea in borrowed clothes.

They were ruined. There was no arguing past this. Jean felt sick. He felt _angry._

How dare someone ruin what had been a private night? How dare someone take something good and twist it into a cheap spectacle? 

Jean had never fully understood the chasm between Kevin’s media upbringing and his own until that moment. They had both been Riko’s, but the public didn’t care about the silent, grim-faced shadow, hovering in the background, frequently absent to hide injuries the public knew nothing about. True, Jean had run the media gauntlet after his transfer to USC, but he had been only a small part of the greater Moriyama-Raven defamation. But Kevin had lived this since before sie could walk. Kevin had known this could happen. And Jean had ignored those fears.

He had _told Kevin it was safe._

“This is unacceptable,” Hanson was saying. “You are professionals. You know that the reputation of this team is only as good as her players uphold it to be. I expected better of you, Ms. Muldani.”

Thea’s face froze.

“Excuse me?” said Jeremy.

“You’re excused. And while you’re gone, you can examine the damage you’ve done with this little stunt. Ms. Muldani, it would befit you to do the same, don’t you think?”

“I think there are _too many men on this team_.” Thea stalked to the foul line and started slamming shots against the wall with enough force to shake the glass around the top edge. Jean followed her. There was nothing he could do about the photographs right now, but for this, he had an idea.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Thea warned. 

“You should tell Kamal to consider Allison Reynolds for Court,” said Jean.

Thea pretended she hadn’t heard him.

“You’re friends with her. I’m friends with Renee. Even without that, it’s obvious that she’s wasted with the team she has now. After Throne retires this winter, we’ll only have one defensive dealer.”

The next ball rebounded dangerously close to Jean’s head. “Why me and not Kevin?”

“Don’t be dense on purpose. We both know Kevin’s putting forth Minyard. Sie nearly creamed hirself when sie learned his name was in the running.”

Thea paused and dropped her arm to her side, fist clenched around her racquet. Jean let her breathe heavily into the silence. He wouldn’t have suggested Allison if she wasn’t more than good enough to fill the space Thorne would vacate. But the gears of professional sports turned on politics as much as talent, and a woman in Exy who relied on the fairness of coaches during recruitment was a woman who watched her career spiral down the drain.

Across the court, Kevin and Jeremy were arguing with Coach Hanson. The rest of the team fanned out around them in a blast radius, trying to pretend they weren’t listening to every word.Hanson jabbed two fingers at Kevin and Jeremy and then towards the locker room, and again when Jeremy shook his head. Kevin stepped forward and Jean was sure he was about to see one of the assistant coaches of the national Exy team choked against a wall until Goldstein darted between them and joined the dispute with a rough chop of her arm.  
  
“We’ve already got me and her,” said Thea, pointing her racquet at Goldstein. “There’s only ever been two women on the US Court. No more. I replaced Jenny ‘Red’ Davis, and Julia replaced Megan Wright.”  
  
Jean shrugged.

Thea hit the head of her racquet against the palm of her glove. She parted her lips over her teeth. It wasn’t a smile. “You’re right. The time’s past due to change that.”

 

They were sent up to Assistant Coach Kamal’s office with a terse word that promised an extended chewing-out to come. Jeremy, Jean, and Kevin closed ranks around Thea, Jeremy leading and Jean bringing up the rear. Jean expected Kevin to protest being pulled off the court, but sie had gone deathly quiet as the reality of the situation sank in. Hir hands were shaking as sie gripped the railing.

Jean wasn’t sure how he was dealing with it. He seemed to be floating several feet above his body, looking down at the top of his own head.

He’d been in Coach Kamal’s office since his contract had started in January: orientation, a handful of chastisements. It was cluttered and dowdy. The master’s office had been among the sleek VIP lounges, and and seldom had he actually invited players inside.

Jean had been part of that seldom. Kevin and Riko had been, far, far more.

It was not the master’s office, but Jean found himself tucking in his elbows, preparing to hit the ground.

“Coach,” said Jeremy, the minute he opened the door. He strode in and planted himself directly in front of Coach Kamal’s desk, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what Coach Hanson told you, but Thea is not the instigator of whatever you saw happening in those photos, and if you continue to lay the blame on her I will call a lawyer and have you and Coach Hanson sued for gender discrimination.”

If Jean had been more present in his skin, he would have appreciated the fire in Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy when righteous was a beautiful thing. 

“Calm down, Knox,” said Coach Kamal. He hadn’t moved from his chair. “Muldani, I don’t know what Hanson said to you, but it will not be present in this room. Have a seat, all of you.”

Jeremy stayed glaring for another few seconds and then, slowly, dragged a chair forward and dropped into it. The rest of them did the same.

“You’re not fired,” said Kamal.

Jean had been so concerned with Thea that he hadn’t considered he might lose his place on the team. How would the Moriyamas have reacted, if two of their valuable investments were too controversial to keep around? The armor on Jean’s legs squeaked against the chair; he’d slumped down. Kevin, belatedly, grabbed the wastebasket by Kamal’s desk and dry-heaved into it. Sie came back up ashen and sweating.

“I’ve spent the last hour on the phone,” Kamal continued. “We’ve got people contacting the magazine to get the pictures down, and to control the hashtags or whatever is big these days. But the first call I made was to Coach Dwyer, and he confirmed that we are not letting you—any of you—go. That does _not_ mean,” he stressed, “that you’re off the hook. PR is in the building already, and you’re meeting with them after this. You’re going to work _with_ them to craft whatever it is you’re going to tell the press when they come knocking. And they will. Security can keep reporters off the campus when there’s no game to cover, but as soon as you set foot on public ground you’ll be at their mercy.” 

Thea’s foot was tapping so quickly she was jiggling her chair. “Let them come.”  
  
“I’m glad you have that attitude, because you’ll need that confidence when the letters and the emails start pouring in. I’d suggest the four of you find something else to wear when you leave tonight, and not leave together.”  
  
Jeremy’s fingers twisted in his lap. “We only live in two apartments.”

Kamal sighed. He pushed his iron-grey hair back from his face with both hands. He was, suddenly, only a man; fallible, unsure, and extraordinarily tired. The afternoon sunlight came through the window behind him, backlighting the frayed US Court patch on his jacket.“Look,” he said. “I don’t care if you are dating or you aren’t. The worst-kept secret in Exy is how gay we all are.”

The wastebasket slipped an inch through Kevin’s fingers. “We?”

Kamal’s smile was more rue than humor. He held up his left hand. “Technically, this is a civil union ring, not a wedding band. The point is,” he continued, fixing them each in turn with his hawklike stare, “that no matter what I think, there is only so much protection I can give you. Theadora, you’re the only woman here, and that’s going to get ugly. Jeremiah, Kevin, Jean, you’re going to have to decide if you want to come out publicly. You’re _not fired,_ ” he repeated, leaning forward, “but this _will_ affect your reputations, and will be brought up in every interview for longer than it should. Depending on your choices, it might affect the jobs you’re offered after you retire.”

Jeremy was wilting. He’d always been susceptible to authority figures telling him he’d fucked up, and even if this wasn’t—Jean thought—exactly what was happening, the similarities were enough to set off his anxiety. Kevin was still clutching the wastebasket. Thea’s lips were pressed so tightly together it looked painful. 

Jean wanted to hold all of them; to squeeze their hands and offer comfort as he often couldn’t manage with words. Kamal’s presence meant that couldn’t happen. Jean curled his hands in the fabric of his shorts and dug his nails into his thighs.

Maybe something of Jean’s wanting showed, because Kamal’s face, as he looked at them, softened. “I’ve got one more question, and then I’ll send you to PR,” he said. “Is this going to be an issue on the court?”  
  
“No,” said Thea.

“No,” whispered Kevin.

“Absolutely not,” said Jeremy.

“ _Non_.”  
  
Kamal nodded. “Then this is in your hands. Make a statement, spill your sexual histories, don’t—as long as it won’t affect your game, it’s up to you. I expect all of you at practice tomorrow, early.”  
  
“Thank you, Coach,” said Jeremy in a voice trying desperately not to be small. When Thea stood he did as well. He grasped her arm for a brief moment, easily missed. Or overlooked.

Kevin set the wastebasket carefully back where sie had found it. “Sometimes, Coach,” sie said quietly, “You remind me of someone I know.”

 

Fifty percent of what the bracingly calm PR coordinator told them to do was ridiculous (Jean was not going to switch markets just because of some photographs. Nowhere else had bread with a decent crust), but fifty percent made sense, and Jean acquiesced to it however much it rankled. He still had no idea how he was going to handle the homophobic outcry.

That was one of the few things that Kevin had figured out. “I’m sorry,” sie said miserably to Jeremy and Jean, as the four of them convened after the PR team had left. The greater catastrophe of the photographs had overruled Kevin’s stubbornness, and sie was speaking to them again. “I don’t want—I mean, this, you—you’re important to me, but I can’t.“

“Hey, we’re not going to force you to say anything you’re not ready for,” said Jeremy, touching gentle fingers to Kevin’s jaw. “I’m sorry you’re in this position. I should have—“  
  
“ _Don’t_ apologize.”  
  
“All right.”

Thea was a whirlwind. She had agreed to all of PR’s terms and was reorganizing her schedule on her phone, pacing and muttering under her breath. Jean crossed his hands behind his head and leaned against a poster urging him to believe in his own greatness. He wasn’t quite back in his body yet. The world had taken on a dreamlike, hyper-pigmented quality. Thea’s uniform, as she moved, was mesmerizing.

There was a knock on the door. Jean, as the closest, opened it. Julia Goldstein stood right outside. Behind her, Jean could see the rest of the team.

“We found out what happened,” Goldstein said.

Kevin was by Jean’s side in an instant. Thea stopped pacing to turn around. Jeremy’s hand dropped to his side.

“How?” asked Jean.

“Stephen’s sister saw the pictures.”  
  
“I’ll be having a chat with her, don’t worry,” Caballero rumbled. Jean might have felt sorry for the sister, except that Jean wasn’t a nice person, and he didn’t care.

“We wanted you to know that whatever happens, we’re on your side,” said Goldstein.

Jean’s gaze swept over their gathered teammates, shuffling and coughing, but all with serious faces, determined stares. Goldstein wasn’t making pretty, he realized. She was telling the truth. All of them, from Patrick Thorne, the oldest, to fresh-out-of-college Reid Howard, would stand behind them no matter the outcome. 

This wasn’t the Ravens at all.

“And Thea?” Julia said, meeting her eyes between Jean and Kevin’s shoulders. “We’re getting rid of that dick Hanson.”  
  
Thea drew herself up to her full height. “I’m suggesting Allison Reynolds for this season’s draft.”  
  
Julia’s laugh was vicious. “Good. I’ll second it.”

Women were terrifying.

Lucas Blinov muscled past Julia to throw one arm around Jean’s neck and the other around Kevin’s. Kevin ducked away, but Lucas didn’t seem bothered. “We’ve got you,” he said to them all. “Anyone who wants to start shit is going to have to go through the rest of us first."  


 

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Three steps into their apartment that evening, Jean collapsed to the floor. Jeremy held him while the shakes subsided and offered him sips of water. “It’s going to work out,” he repeated. “You’ve got me, you’ve got Renee, you’ve got Kevin and Thea, we’ve got the team, we’ve got Coach Kamal. You’re not alone for this one.” Jean returned the favor when Jeremy woke up in the middle of the night to have a panic attack.  
  
“I feel like my life isn’t mine anymore,” Jeremy said, clutching his chest. “Shit. That was so insensitive. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Jean. He just wanted Jeremy to stop hyperventilating. “It fucking sucks, doesn’t it.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Jeremy wetly. He fumbled for the tissue box on the nightstand and blew his nose. “Yeah, it really fucking does.”

 

* * *

 

_(Excerpt from Charleston Gazette-Mail, Tues. Jul. 16, 2013)_

GAY RUMORS ABOUND  
  
“Jeremy [Knox] and I are in a romantic relationship,” US Exy Court backliner Moreau confirmed in response to rumors surrounding photographs last Friday. The photos, which depicted Moreau embracing teammates Knox and Day while teammate Muldani watched, were removed soon after posting but had already sparked controversy. “We’re very happy. I love him very much.”  
  
To questions about Muldani and Day’s involvement with the couple, Knox said they are “close friends and respected teammates” and that “the issue has been blown out of proportion,” adding “who wouldn’t want to kiss Kevin Day, given the chance?”

[IMG: US Court starting striker Kevin Day speaks at press conference Monday.]

Day refused to address queries regarding his sexuality, instead focusing on girlfriend Muldani. “I’m disappointed with some of the things being said [about Muldani],” said Day. “It’s 2013. We’re feminists. I encourage our fans to continue supporting Thea however they can.”

Muldani’s comments centered on the upcoming season. “You can expect a lot more power from the back line. We’re moving into a new era as a team,” ( _continued on 4C)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicky Hemmick, shoving a Palmetto Foxes cap down on Erik’s head: liking Exy is gay culture
> 
> Andrew, holding Neil’s hand: I don’t like Exy
> 
> Nicky: Neil you’re dating a straight man


	9. INTERLUDE: JEREMY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: media homophobia, misogyny, under eating due to anxiety, Kevin worrying about sugar intake, misgendering of Kevin by people sie isn’t out to yet

Three clicks. Type in the search bar. Find the first video.

_“In a shocking turn of events, Exy star Kevin Day was found kissing another man—“_

New search. Third video down.

_“What can you expect from these French, you know, it’s like they say—“_

Click. Search. Scroll.

_“We’re here with a man who went to high school with Theadora Muldani, says she ‘always was a bit of a—’”_

“Stop,” said Thea, plucking one of Jeremy’s earbuds out of his ear. He jolted, scraping his ass on the stone bench, and quickly removed the other.

“Thea! I wasn’t expecting you for another ten minutes?”

“It won’t do any good to watch that,” said Thea, lowering herself onto the bench beside Jeremy. Her dress was red today. _Scarlet woman,_ Jeremy thought, and God, that wasn’t funny. 

A shadow covered the screen of Jeremy’s phone, followed by a hand the moment after. “I will take this away from you.”  
  
Jeremy rubbed his eyes and craned his neck to look at Thea. Besides her dress, she was wearing a floppy sunhat and an enormous pair of sunglasses. They might have been more effective at discouraging attention if the overall effect didn’t make her look like a muscular, jet-setting supermodel. Or a modern Carmen Sandiego.

“Thanks for coming,” said Jeremy. “The kids are going to be super excited to see you.”

Five days had passed since what Lucas had nicknamed “Photo-Gate,” and Jeremy had never been so grateful that Exy players weren’t commonly recognized on the street. Reporters had swarmed the two apartments for the first forty-eight hours, but boredom or an order by the Court’s lawyers had dispelled them to greener pastures. They weren’t out of the woods yet: Kevin had been subject to endless speculations, and Jean and Thea had been receiving the promised hatemail and threats. For himself, Jeremy had chewed his nails to the quick over whether the press would get ahold of the fact that he was transgender. There was a wide gulf between “out to his teammates” and “cool with answering questions about his genitals on live television.”

He and Jean had discussed the decision to go public _ad nauseum_ the entire weekend. “It’ll take some of the pressure off Thea and Kevin,” Jean had said.

Jeremy had nodded, capping the milk. His meal schedule had gone to shit as it always did when his anxiety rose, so he was having cereal at 4pm on a Sunday. “Sie’s taking this hard.”  
  
“It’s difficult for Kevin to to appear anything less than perfect,” Jean said. The bags under his eyes made him look ill. He’d barely slept since the floor on Thursday night. “Or what Kevin’s been taught that is. We could come up with something else. There’s plenty in my past that could drum up a scandal.”

Grief tore at Jeremy’s heart, the same way it always did at the topic of Jean’s life before the Trojans. Luckily—unluckily?—he was well practiced at shoving it aside. “Coming out is a big decision. I always intended to do it myself, but I thought it’d be after months of planning, and part of something like Pride Month, or rep for the HRC Foundation.”  
  
“You would,” said Jean, with so much affection that Jeremy abandoned his cereal to take Jean’s hand. Jean kissed his knuckles and tugged him into a hug. He sighed against the top of Jeremy’s head.

“Do you want to come out? Really,” Jeremy asked. It was a question they’d both tiptoed around all weekend, and Jeremy felt Jean’s abdomen clench in response. He reached back to rub at Jean’s hip soothingly.

“I’ve never particularly hid my sexuality,” said Jean. “And we’ve never done much to conceal our relationship. I couldn’t care less what people think of me. I don’t want to have to say, out loud, that we’re only friends. But you’re already dealing with the backlash from the photos, and if we come out it will get worse.”  
  
_Sweetheart,_ Jeremy thought, a lump rising in his throat. “Jean, you could have asked me. It’s going to be hard, I know that, but as I’ve just said it was always part of my plan. I want…” he tightened his grip around Jean’s hip. “I love you, and I want to be able to say it.”

The sound Jean made then resembled a sob. Jeremy kindly didn’t mention it, and when he turned around Jean kissed him.

 

The stone bench was one of many spaced at attractive intervals around the city library. Jeremy got up, stretched, and tucked his phone into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “Bobby’s already inside. I told him to go ahead and give proper warning.”

“Our chaperone,” said Thea. She stood—Jeremy felt a little bad about it, so soon after she’d sat down—and started up the wide concrete steps. Jeremy scrambled to keep up.

When Jeremy had received his first National Exy League (“NELly”, as it was colloquially known) paycheck, he hadn’t had any idea what to do with it. It was more money than he could possibly spend in a week, even if he’d wanted a fancy mansion or a fleet of sailboats. As he hadn’t, he had set aside enough to pay for bills and desired luxuries, put some into retirement, and donated the rest. After he’d been recognized assisting at a food drive, Jeremy had realized that his modest fame could be put to use as well. Now whenever Jeremy volunteered with a charity he updated his social media with selfies and posts that advertised the organization, usually ending with a plea for the viewer to donate money or time.

This afternoon he had carved out a few hours after lunch to join in the public library’s Words With Kids series, where adults and older teens could volunteer to read to children under twelve. Anyone fitting that description was welcome, but the program focused on kids who, for one reason or another, might not have gotten that type of one-on-one reading at home. Neither Jean nor Kevin were interested in charity work, but this time Thea had expressed a desire to come along. Bobby Hayes, who doted on his daughter, had been the obvious choice to ask to accompany them. PR didn’t want Jeremy, Kevin, Jean, and Thea to be seen together outside of their accepted couples without another party for at least a week yet.

“Play up the friendship,” Sheryl had told Jeremy, after he’d reported that the library still wanted him to come. “You’re out with your teammates. You’re serving the community. It’s all platonic.”  
  
Jeremy thought of the way Thea’s mouth tasted when she came. “Right.” 

The library was short-staffed and grateful to see them. “We’re not here to judge anyone,” said the head librarian, hurrying Jeremy and Thea over the carpeted floors. “Most of these parents and guardians are trying their best. That said, if any red flags do pop up, the children’s librarian is trained to deal with that sort of thing. Here we are! Those chairs over in the corner.”

A sizable posse of kids was already swarming over the brightly-painted tables and kid-sized chairs. Bobby had a kid on each knee and was focused on the story the one in overalls was telling, nodding when he paused for breath. It was a sweet image; some of Jeremy’s leftover nerves from the videos melted away. He snapped a picture of the scene to post later and captioned it _Words With Kids @Kanawha County Public Library: catch it every weds at 1 pm!!_

A girl with twin poufs of dark hair ran up and tugged at Thea’s dress. Jeremy had a moment to realize that he’d _never actually seen Thea interact with children, oh shit_ before Thea was taking off her sunglasses and crouching down.

“Excuse me,” the girl said, lisping. “Are you Theadora Muldani?”  
  
“Yes,” said Thea, holding out her hand for the girl to shake. “What’s your name?”

“Rina,” said the girl. She gave Thea’s hand a few enthusiastic pumps. “You’re my favorite. I have a poster of you in my room.”  


“Do you play Exy?”  
  
“Yes! Only I’m a striker ‘cause the strikers are the best ‘cause they get all the points!”

Thea didn’t quite know how to respond to that. 

“Would you like Thea to read you a story?” asked Jeremy, swooping in. “I can vouch for her. She’s even better than I am.”

“Yes,” said Rina decisively, and dragged Thea towards the nearest bookshelf. Thea stumbled a little getting up, but regained her footing and listened seriously to Rina’s tirade about finding the right book, one that had a _girl_ character not a _boy_ one. Jeremy allowed himself a moment to watch them, and then waded through the sea of children, smiling and saying hello, to take the armchair beside Bobby.

“Glad you could make it,” Jeremy told him. He liked Bobby. The man was a strategy-based backliner, and focused on covering the blind spot of his defense partner, an invaluable asset often overlooked by sportscasters. It was an attitude he carried over to the rest of his life, from the elderly dog he’d rescued to his teamwork-based approach to setbacks. “It’s good practice,” he’d said, when Jeremy had expressed admiration. “I’ve got to set a good example for Mickey, right? She’s started taking cello at school. She’s going to be the next Yo-Yo Ma. I’ve got a video, you want to see?”

Bobby was immersed in a story about talking dragons, performing a number of different voices for the kids gathered around him, so he flicked Jeremy a smile but didn’t strike up a conversation. Jeremy scooted forward and crossed his arms over his knees. “My name is Jeremy,” he told the assembled children. Most of them were hanging back, having had time to overcome their shyness for Bobby but not yet for Jeremy. Jeremy met the eyes of a boy hiding behind his older sister’s legs and winked. The boy offered him a tiny wave and then shuffled completely out of sight. “I’ve got a problem. Can you help me?” Jeremy asked, sweeping his gaze over the rest, projecting friendly benevolence with all his might. “I don’t know any good books. Have you got any I might like?”

Under the watchful eyes of the librarians, Jeremy, Thea, and Bobby read through what felt like half the children’s section. Mindful of the growing pile of finished books, Jeremy made up a reshelving game that drew heavily from musical chairs. The noise the kids made as they ran around possibly canceled out any net gain from having the books be put away. Jeremy made a note to get the children’s librarian a large gift basket.

“You’re good with kids,” Thea said to Jeremy as one of her little readers ran to exchange her picture book. 

“Nieces and nephews,” explained Jeremy. “And I used to baby-sit to earn cash in high school.”

“With your free time between the GSA, Exy, and your Honors classes.”  
  
Jeremy felt himself blush. He hadn’t expected Thea to remember. “I was in the fall play once. Sophomore year.”

Thea looked across at Bobby and made an expansive gesture that apparently encompassed her feelings on the subject of Jeremy Knox. Bobby laughed.

“Have you taken a day off since you were the size of this guy?” Bobby asked him, bouncing the toddler on his lap. “What do you think, Joey? Has Mr. Knox taken a day off ever?”

The toddler took his thumb out of his mouth and gave Jeremy a once-over. “You look bad. You need a nap.”

“You’re probably right,” Jeremy agreed. “In fact, I’m falling asleep…right…now…” he tipped his cheek into his hand and mimed snoring. Joey giggled and went back to sucking his thumb.

Bobby snagged Jeremy as they were checking out and led him a little way down from the shrieking throng, past the circulation desk. “Seriously, though,” he said in an undertone. “A couple of the guys are worried about you. This kind of media attention is draining. I would know. It’s not the same, but when I got divorced it was all over the papers.”

“I’m good,” said Jeremy, willing himself to believe it. He forced a smile. “Honestly, I’m the last one you should worry about. I’m a much smaller name than Jean or Kevin or Thea.”

“Yeah, but they’re taking time to do things for themselves. To hang out with people they like,” said Bobby, with a significant look at Thea, who had a child hanging off of each arm. They were leading her through a twirling dance, and she was following with an expression of utmost concentration.

Jeremy frowned. “This is a charity event? She’s here for the same reason we are?”

“Kid,” said Bobby, pitying, and Jeremy was too flabbergasted to protest that he was only two years Bobby’s junior.

 

What Bobby didn’t understand was that there wasn’t any _time_ for Jeremy to take time for himself. When he wasn’t in practice, at the gym, or fulfilling some other obligation, he needed to be available for his partners to depend on. They were all dealing with far more blowback to the photographs and the subsequent press release than he was, as a comparatively low-priority talent. He sorted the mail before Jean could see it, kept an eye on television sets around Kevin in case he needed to intervene, and made sure to keep his manner respectful and gentlemanly around Thea anywhere cameras might see. He laughed and redirected the conversation every time somebody brought up the incident, and after an enterprising journalist camped out by the gates to Evermore to assault them as they came in, he came to afternoon practice with mugs of his mother’s favorite iced tea.

“How much sugar’s in this?” asked Kevin, rolling the travel mug between hir palms. Jeremy had given hir the one patterned with snowmen. Normally that was reserved for winter, but Jeremy thought the bright red background might cheer Kevin up.

“I made it unsweetened,” Jeremy assured hir. Kevin relaxed and took a sip. Hir eyes widened. 

“Good, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Kevin, and took another drink. Hir expression sent a happy wriggle through Jeremy’s body, but he couldn’t kiss hir here, so he bumped Kevin’s shoulder and answered Thea’s question about the ingredients.

“Thanks,” said Jean, hugging Jeremy briefly. “You didn’t bring one for yourself?”  
  
Somehow Jeremy had forgotten. Jean _tsk-_ ed and made Jeremy drink half of his, with a few extra sips from Thea. Kevin refused to surrender a drop. It wasn’t the conversation that Jeremy and Kevin still had yet to have, about the shouting, but it was an overture. Jeremy was starting to learn how those went.

It was all going—not well, but manageably—until stick drills the next morning. “High! Low! Right! Get ‘em right! Low! Knox, you’re lagging!” Coach Kamal shouted, going down the line. “Pick it up!”  
  
Jeremy did. Louis came down hard overhead, and Jeremy’s stick clattered out of his hands.

“Knox!”  
  
“Sorry, Coach,” Jeremy called, and bent to retrieve his racquet. When he stood up again Louis’ jersey wavered in and out of focus. “Woah, dizzy. Gimme a sec, man?”

Jean was at his side in an instant. Jeremy tried to indicate his sustained excellent health, but Jean wasn’t having it. “What did you have for breakfast?”  
  
“Uh.” A singular bowl of cereal. Come to think of it, that had also been his dinner last night. And his lunch. Cereal was easy and fast.  
  
“Off the court,” said Jean, and hauled Jeremy, protesting, over to the bench. Kamal, Thea, and Kevin gathered around them. This sort of thing was becoming a regular occurrence. Jeremy wasn’t a big proponent of the tradition continuing.

“Low blood sugar,” Jean told Kamal, overruling Jeremy’s dismissive platitudes. “Kevin, there’s a couple protein bars in my bag.”

“The diet plan is there for a reason,” said Kamal, at cross-court decibel level. Jeremy winced, glad for the padding in his helmet. Julia maintained that Kamal was loud because he refused to admit his hearing was going. “Go to the physician after this. Don’t come back until you get cleared.” He turned and strode away to re-match the pairs that Jeremy’s moment of weakness had broken up.

Thea and Jean swung over the guard rail to join Jeremy on the bench, bracketing him between them. Their shoulder pads kept them knocking back and forth like bumper cars. Jeremy giggled. Yep, still lightheaded. Wow, food was super necessary.

“You’re an idiot,” said Thea thickly through her mouthguard. She spat it out. “Does stress always do this to him?”  
  
“When it’s bad,” Jean admitted. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“Guys. It’s under control. I’ll eat Jean’s protein bars and I’ll be a-ok.”  
  
“Tell me you weren’t going to use that excuse in the middle of a game,” Thea said.

Jeremy went still. Thea noticed, and she sighed. “I’m not Kevin’s keeper.”  
  
“Um?”  
  
“I care for Kevin. I’m there when sie needs me. But sie’s got a therapist and a support group.” Thea sighed again. “Jean?”

Jean rapped the side of Jeremy’s helmet. _“Jérème._ We’re grateful for everything you’re doing. But you don’t have to be our nurse.”  
  
“Except I kind of do,” said Jeremy. “We are doing this whole relationship…thing. Together.”

Jean and Thea exchanged a look over Jeremy’s head. For a moment, Jeremy panicked. Was that not going on anymore? They hadn’t really discussed it, but if Thea and Kevin wanted out he supposed he couldn’t blame them. Did they?

“You should have seen him my first semester at USC. He was practically spoon-feeding me chicken soup,” Jean was saying. He shook Jeremy gently. “You want to look after everybody, I know. But the four of us are equal in this. We look after each other.”

“And ourselves. We _are_ adults,” said Thea, a bit sardonically.

“I know,” said Jeremy. He picked at the velcro of his glove. “I just get concerned.”  
  
“What you get is sacrificial,” said Jean, covering Jeremy’s glove with his own. “It’s not your job to fix everybody.”

That was similar to something Laila had told Jeremy last year, when he’d stayed up until dawn at Relay for Life the night before his spoken interview with Court. “Jeremy Saint-on-Earth Knox,” she’d said. “You can’t save the world by yourself.”

Jeremy blinked away sudden tears. “I guess you have a point. Where’s Kevin with that protein, hey?”  


“Here,” said Kevin, jogging over. Sie dropped the bars in Jeremy’s lap and stood glaring down at him until Jeremy had finished them all. Jeremy thought, _I’m lucky to have them, aren’t I?_

 

“Kevin,” Jeremy said, later, waiting for Jean and Thea to finish in the locker rooms. “I’m going to try to leave you alone when you say you need that. Would you try not to yell at me when we’re not on the court? I get anxious.”  
  
Kevin’s mouth parted. “Oh. I didn’t know. Sure.” Sie brushed her knuckles against Jeremy’s cheek, and that was that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy: okay so we’ve been dating for a couple months, I know, but like, do Kevin and Thea like me? Fuck, does Jean even like me? What if he doesn’t? 
> 
> Bobby Hayes, who has been stuck intercepting cross-court sexual tension more times than he can count: bro. dude
> 
> (Yep, Blinov was a physics major. Who is this man)
> 
> (Thea does like kids and she did want to help besides her motive of showing interest in Jeremy’s interests, but nobody expects it because she doesn’t do the stereotypical happy-smile-cheerful-voice.)


	10. There's Nothing Like Sports To Incite Bloodthirsty Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: referenced child abuse, Exy-typical violence, homophobia, misogyny

The Atlantic Ocean was breathtaking.

Twenty-seven first-class tickets meant that competition for coveted seats was tough, but Jean managed to snag a window on the second flight and spent the daylit hours with his nose pressed against the double-layered glass. There was so much _blue:_ spotted over with shadows from the drifting clouds, rippling with waves that seemed tiny from a height of seven miles. Though ships and various commercial vessels had busied the ports along the shore, by the time the plane got over the open ocean Jean was faced with an unbroken expanse of what had once been the largest physical reminder of how far he was from home, in size of not in intensity. Now Jean’s home was an apartment in Charleston with Jeremy, but he still liked to watch the Atlantic, endless and shimmering, as he passed her by. 

The first trans-Atlantic trip he’d taken with the team had been as expected. He’d held tight to Jeremy’s hand as they took off and again as they landed, and had been near cross-eyed from the conflicting fear and joy swirling inside him. That destination had not been France, and Jean was glad. He would not have been in fit state to play after the dual blow of flying over the Atlantic _and_ landing at Charles de Gaulle in a perfect reversal of the trip that had first acquainted him with the Moriyamas. Not that _they_ had been on that flight: it was a cargo shipment, and beneath them. Instead Jean had been shown their photos and hit repeatedly until he’d memorized the proper obeisance, his tongue clumsy around a language that he didn’t yet know. It was easier, this season. Still, Jean watched the ocean. His Moriyama handlers had not been keen on allowing their adolescent charge to gawp out the window.

“Pretzels?” Jeremy asked, holding them out. Jean collected the packets and a Styrofoam cup of ginger ale when the stewardess prompted. He readjusted his legs. Even in first class, there was never enough room in airplanes to fit the whole of him. Kevin and Thea, in the other two seats of the row, were in the same boat. Coach Hanson had turned purple when he’d saw they were all sitting together, but was too prudent to throw a tantrum under the eye of Coach Dwyer.

They landed in Munich at 6:14 local time, meeting the edge of the sunrise. Despite the early hour Lucas started shouting about bratwurst, and Reid Howard, who had a bottomless stomach and a hollow leg to boot, joined in. They relocated to the other side of the carry-on-toting pack when Kevin snapped at them. Jean wasn’t sure if it was out of courtesy, or because Kevin was more of a bitch than usual after eighteen hours (minus layover time) in an airborne bus. Thea whacked Kevin with her neck pillow when hir complaints began to repeat. Jeremy shot Thea a sympathetic look and offered to help Kevin stretch out hir calves.

First serve against Portugal was set for 8:00PM, so the team, coaches, and physicians blundered through the baggage claim to taxis to catch some horizontal sleep before the game. Jean and Jeremy had to take a different room than Kevin and Thea, which might have been annoying if Jean hadn’t been too exhausted to do anything but drag the covers over his head and close his eyes.

The Munich stadium was larger than Castle Evermore. The drawbacks to building one of the first professional Exy stadiums was that everyone after you had the room to show you up. Chandeliers swayed twenty stories above as Jean passed through the stained-glass and wrought-iron doorway. Opulence was the name of the game. Plush red carpeting turned heavy athletic footfalls into polite whispers; thick gold rope separated the masses of spectators from the arriving teams. Kevin and Jeremy’s smiles were cranked to full blast, Kevin’s fake and Jeremy’s genuine. Chatterjee—the one who went by “G-man,” and ignored all queries about his actual first name—smashed his hands together in a gesture Jean recognized from the goal. The crowd roared. 

Jean was glad when the team escaped the rabid public for the relative quiet of the locker room. Pre-game excitement for him was a subtler thing, a low simmer stoked by his teammates around him as they changed into pads and Court blues, their usual chatter sharpened by the knowledge that tonight they would be throwing their worth up against another team. It was the opposite of the way Jean felt when he was drifting. Sounds were clear, details crisp; the world and Jean’s meaning locked into focus. He was here. He would play. They would win.

Patrick Thorne clapped Jean on the back. “Think Da Rosa will want a round two?”

Portugal’s captain had come off the worse in a brawl between himself and Jean the last time the US and Portuguese Courts had battled. Good dental work was invaluable. “Maybe he’s learned to keep his elbows to himself.”

“Maybe pigs landed in _der flughafen_ with the airplane.”

Coach Dwyer said his customary handful of words, and then Kamal and Hanson took the floor. “Starting lineup is Thorne, Day, Goldstein, Muldani, Hayes, Chatterjee for the first half, Yeom, Glanville, Caballero, Kostopoulous, Straight for the second,” said Hanson. “The rest of you, be ready. Portugal’s fast, and this is the first game of the season. We’ll use subs as much as we can. Don’t focus on stamina. You’ll need all your energy to outrun their strikers.” He rattled off Portugal’s lineup. They were starting with heavy defense and comparatively weaker offense, which was either a compliment to the US Court’s strikers or an insult to its backliners and starting goalkeeper Chatterjee. 

Kamal worked them through a couple of the plays they’d prepared for speed-focused teams like Portugal and, like Hanson, told them not to pace themselves. “It’s a Cup game,” he reminded them. “This is not the time to show off. It’s the time to knock them on their asses."

Patrick, as captain, led them through a few pump-up chants and then waxed for a poetic minute about how hard they’d worked during the off season. “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of this team,” he said. “After we win, Kamal gave me permission to buy you all dinner at whatever hellhole greasy street food restaurant you want.”

Blinov whooped and pounded his chest. “Eech vurd vurst eessin!”

“What the fuck was that?” asked Reid.

“Google Translate for ‘I will eat sausage!’”

“ _Please_ say that to a real German person.”

“As opposed to a fictional one?”  
  
“Gentlemen _,_ ” said Patrick warningly. Blinov and Reid subsided. Patrick turned his attention back to the group and smiled. “The coaches said most of it, so I’ve only got two more words for you: _play ball._ ”

The US won first serve, and Patrick dealt to Julia. Julia ran ten steps and hit the ball against the wall just before one of Portugal’s backliners smashed into her. Kevin caught the rebound but the other backliner was on hir. Sie passed to Julia, who passed back. The Portuguese dealer intercepted and passed to De Rosa, who made a long shot on goal. Chatterjee blocked and heaved the ball to Thea, who ducked De Rosa’s attempt to grapple and sent the ball to Kevin. 

“Chatterjee, good!” Kamal shouted. “Keep it up!”

He and Hanson hadn’t lied. Portugal was _fast._ Even Julia, who was quicker than Kevin, had a hard time catching up. The backliners moved in a slanted formation that Jean wasn’t familiar with. He watched it in lieu of following the ball, trying to commit it to memory in case it proved useful.Fifteen minutes in Kevin twisted on hir heel and shot through hir backliner mark’s legs. The goal lit up red. First point to the US; the crowd was thunderous.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Kamal said, pounding on the glass. Half the bench, including Jeremy, heaved to their feet and screamed. Jean unclenched his fists.

Unfortunately, the order not to pace themselves was having a visible toll. Portugal got the next goal, to the mixed approval and anger of the audience. Two subs ran to take the places of the strikers. Hanson swore under his breath. When the US got the serve again he subbed Jean in for Thea, Stephen for Julia, and Blinov for Patrick. Jean clacked sticks with Thea and ran onto the court.

God, he’d missed this.

Play resumed. Jean rammed his shoulder into the approaching striker and gained possession of the ball. He lost it a moment later as the striker crashed crashed her racquet against his, making his forearms vibrate and him nearly drop his stick. The ball bounced. Thea and Portugal’s other striker leapt for it, and Thea missed by a hair. Chatterjee dove across the goal and landed on top of the ball before it could go in. The striker pounded his stick on the ground in frustration and ran back to chase Chatterjee’s forward pass.

Jean raced to half-court to mark him, his chest pounding. The wood of the court felt electric. There was nothing but these four walls, the players, and the ball. Everything outside of that ceased to exist. He dogged the striker’s attempts to break free; Kevin passed to Stephen, who carried for five steps and then aimed at the ceiling. Both backliners converged upon him.Stephen kicked one in the back of the calf and got a fist to the gut for his efforts. He rallied to seize hold of the backliner’s arm and twist it behind his back. The whistle blew, and the backliner got the yellow card. Kevin and Bobby got subbed off for Jeremy and Reid. 

At halftime they were tied, 2-2. Chatterjee was done: three goalkeepers meant that he played almost full halves, which suited him well but put him out of the game for the second half. He re-wrapped the ace bandage around his ankle as Kamal and Hanson chewed them out over their mistakes and praised their successes.

The second half started strong with a goal from Stephen Caballero. Portugal’s dealer blocked his attempt to shoot again, and then grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward. Louis, who had been hovering near the first-fourth line, ran the few feet separating them to collide with the dealer’s back when he knocked Stephen backwards with an uppercut. The dealer rested his stick on his shoe and smashed it down on Louis’ foot.

“You can’t do that!” Jeremy shouted as Louis fell, clutching his leg to his chest. Julia whacked Jeremy’s arm in furious agreement. The referees thought otherwise. They gave the dealer a yellow card but didn’t pull him from the court. Louis raised his racquet to show he was done.

“Knox,” said Kamal, pointing, and Jeremy leapt up to knock sticks with Louis, who was being helped to the bench by Stephen. Louis’ face was creased with pain. One of the team physicians rushed over to help ease his shoe and sock off.

“It’s a legal move in Germany,” said Hanson, teeth gritted. “Damn refs are local.” Jean hated him, but in that moment they were united in anger. Jean didn’t like being united with Hanson for anything. He forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose.

Jeremy made a shot that Portugal’s goalkeeper blocked. She heaved the ball over to a striker, who made it into the US goal at the barest top corner. Kamal swore badly. 

By the time Jean got subbed back in, the US was trailing three points to five. Taking advantage of the referees’ home rule bias, both teams were cushioning their sticks with their bodies to add force to their blows. Jean had gone white-knuckled around the lip of the bench when Jeremy had taken a reinforced shoulder to the faceplate. Blood dripped from Jeremy’s nose to his jersey, but he insisted he was fine to play until the physician who had run onto the court acquiesced.

Due to the multiple injuries on the parts of both the US and Portugal, and to waning stamina in the second half, subs were rotated on and off rapidly. As Kevin stepped back onto the court Jean realized with a thrill that Thea, Jeremy, Kevin, and himself were able to face the opposition as a unified front in the very first game of the season, with Robert O’Donnell in goal and Patrick dealing. Perhaps he imagined it, but he could feel the tension snap as they found their positions for the serve. The four of them formed equidistant points on a square around Patrick. He felt bound to them as if by a rubber band, drawing tighter, prepared to strike in synchronized force. He bared his teeth at Thea. The look she gave him burned.

Patrick served. Jeremy caught and passed to Kevin, not looking to see hir catch it but trusting that sie would as he pelted up the court. Kevin slammed the ball against the top corner of the wall, caught it, and repeated the motion in a move Jean remembered drilling with hir again, and again, under Riko’s punishing scrutiny. Riko had never managed it as precisely as Kevin did now. Portugal’s dealer elbowed Kevin’s stick out of the way but Jeremy was there, diving to catch the ball when it popped out of hir racquet. He rolled, cradling the ball under his body, and passed it to Kevin underhand. Kevin, still caged by hir backliner, batted it up under the backliner’s arm in a narrow arc and Jeremy scooped it up, swinging to shoot without pausing to aim. Red. Jean felt his throat scrape and realized he was shouting.

Portugal’s goalkeeper bashed the ball up the court with obvious irritation. The striker Jean was marking went for it, so Jean put himself in his way. He swerved around Jean but Jean followed, locking sticks with him as he snagged the ball before it hit the ground.

The striker shoved. Jean shoved back. He tried to twist away, but Jean edged the butt of his racquet under the head of his opponent’s and planted his feet.

“ _Move,_ ” said the striker, or so Jean assumed. 

“You could give up,” said Jean.

Recognition dawned on the striker’s face at Jean’s accent. “You’re the one from the news,” he said, in English. “Tell me, can Day get it up for that bitch without you and the other one in the room, or does she take it up the ass?”

Jean punched him.

The ball dropped to the floor. The striker reared back, cursing, and drove his elbow into the seam between Jean’s chest and shoulder armor. He forced Jean against the wall, digging in. Pain exploded across the joint, and Jean wondered if his shoulder was dislocated. With his other arm he grabbed the striker around the neck and squeezed. He bent a knee to drive it up into the striker’s crotch and then two referees dragged them apart.

The yellow went to Jean. Fuming, he glared at the striker—Vieyra, his jersey said—and spat to clear the taste of blood from his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue. 

Patrick strode over and dragged him by the collar around to face him. Jean gasped as his shoulder throbbed. Luckily it still seemed to be in its socket as he could open and close his hand. 

“Do I need to tell the coaches to pull you?” Patrick asked him in a low voice.

Too angry to speak, Jean shook his head.

“Whatever he said to you, deal with it off the court,” said Patrick. He released Jean and jogged back over to where he’d been helping Kevin by marking one of Portugal’s backliners. Jean rolled his shoulder a few times to test his range of motion and waited for De Rosa to finish scolding Vieyra. 

Thea caught his eye and swept her stick between Jean and Vieyra. _What was it?_  
  
Jean picked his racquet up again and wobbled it back and forth. _Not important._  
  
Thea stared at him like she didn’t believe him, but when play resumed she had no choice but to drop it. He caught Kevin and Jeremy flicking him glances as well and repeated his dismissive stick motion. Robert banged an armored glove against the goal. “Let’s go!”

Though they hadn’t heard his words, Kevin and Jeremy attacked with a vendetta against Vieyra. They ducked and wove around him again and again, outpacing him while Patrick took care of the backliners. Vieyra managed to get back the ball only once, and Kevin slammed against him immediately after and popped the ball into his own net. He bounced the ball back off of Thea, who passed it to Jeremy over Vieyra’s head. 

Incensed, Vieyra pounded the butt of his stick against the floor. He shouted something in Portuguese that Jean couldn’t translate, and then switched to English. “Bitch! How does it feel to whore for a bunch of fa—”

He collapsed as Patrick and Jeremy rammed into him, knocking him flat. Still shouting, he didn’t notice when the buzzer sounded. Jean looked up in surprise. It was just a body check. That shouldn’t stop the whole game.  
  
De Rosa had taken off his helmet. He stood in the middle of the court, holding it over his head, sweaty hair reflecting the fluorescent lights above. Across the court, players lay or crouched under the collision courses they’d been on when the buzzer went off. A helmet off meant an instant time out. A helmet off was how players _died._

From the Portuguese bench the coach shouting something that Jean assumed meant “Put your fucking helmet back on!” De Rosa shook his head and turned in a circle, displaying his helmet to the stadium at large. 

Then, one by one, the other Portuguese players followed suit. One of them, who had crashed into and landed on Kevin when sie had frozen, got up so that Kevin could stand. Sie looked at her in disbelief.

Vieyra howled. De Rosa answered him in Portuguese and then, still ignoring his purple-faced coach, said something to the rest of his team. They put their helmets back on and Jean tensed, ready to dive back into the game after the strange and unforeseen pause, but all the Portuguese players walked to the foul line by their bench and put their backs against he wall, racquets by their sides. The one who had let Kevin up detoured to drag Vieyra, still spitting, out from under Patrick and Jeremy. Shellshocked, they let her.

Only the goalie remained. She’d gained possession of the ball in the kerfuffle. She took two wide steps away from the goal and passed to Kevin.

Kevin caught it and, shooting baffled glances at the motionless line of Portuguese players, lined up a shot and took it. The goal flashed red. The goalie scooped up the ball again and passed it to Jeremy. He took a slow, exaggerated step forward, as if inviting the players to protest, and then shot. Goal again. Through the vents Jean heard the crowd’s volume swell higher. This was unprecedented, but more importantly, the US was now ahead.

But the goalie didn’t retreat. She caught the ball for the third time and passed it to Thea. Thea caught with a motion that looked more reflexive than intentional. She squared her shoulders and, in a powerful, decisive motion, snapped the ball across three-quarters of the court to the goal. The crowd bellowed.

The goalie caught the rebound and passed it to Jean. By now, he knew what she was doing. Hisribs ached from the rapid expansion of his lungs. He walked up to the half-court line, each step precise. Stepped over. Walked to the first-fourth line and paused directly in front of the goal. Swung his arms back. Took the shot. 

It struck home at dead center.

The noise and stomping of the crowd shook the glass around the inner court. De Rosa and the rest of his team—sans Vieyra, who Jean saw the coach seize by the elbow and yank into the tunnel—removed their helmets once again and wandered to cluster around center court. De Rosa diverged to go up to Jean.

“I’m sorry,” he said in English. “We are not a team that allows such words. The next time we play, he will not be allowed on the court.”

“Why?” Jean asked. It was all he could think.

De Rosa looked at him strangely. He held his helmet to his chest and bowed. Jean stared at him. De Rosa straightened and passed a gloved hand through his hair, sheepish. “Ah. It’s not—in Portugal, when one team is disgraced, we do this.” He bowed again.

“I broke your jaw,” Jean said, astonished.

De Rosa laughed. “That’s Exy!” He wandered over to Kevin and repeated the apology and the strange bow, and then did the same to Thea and to Jeremy. Jeremy attempted to return the bow and De Rosa grinned and clapped him on the back, gesturing with his free hand as he explained. 

As it didn’t look like the game would be resuming any time soon, Jean took off his own helmet and tucked it under his arm. He turned towards the US bench and saw it overspilling; there was only so much time the coaches could keep fourteen armored players from surging past them. Even Louis hobbled over the rail, leaning heavily on Stephen for support.

“Holy fuck,” Reid shouted, barreling into Jeremy, who was closest. He hugged Jeremy so enthusiastically that Jeremy’s feet left the ground. “That was _awesome._ ” 

Julia, Blinov and Chatterjee had accosted Thea and were gesticulating in a way that suggested they were raining abuse down on Vieyra. Bobby had crossed to Kevin and was doing the same, if more in the way of paternalistic support than spitfire. Jean found himself flanked by Robert and Patrick.

“I think I know what set you off, now,” said Patrick wryly.

One of the backliners whose strategy Jean had admired at the beginning of the game walked up to them and waved. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Martim. You have a great defense! The way you bounced the ball at the lopsided angle between the backliners and the goalkeeper? How did you do that?”  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re after all our secrets,” Patrick joked, and fell into a discussion of the play with Martim and Robert. The kept trying to include Jean, so he forced himself past his amazement and asked after the slant configuration Martim had used. Martim was happy to describe it. From the corner of his eye Jean saw the other Portuguese players mingling with the US Court, discussions just like theirs popping up in twos and threes across the court. Jean’s gaze landed on Kevin and he jerked his head towards an unoccupied corner. Kevin tapped Jeremy on the shoulder and Jeremy jumped and waved to get Thea’s attention, and the four of them convened against an advertisement for German candies.

“Glad to know we’ll be welcome in Portugal if we ever need to skip town,” said Jeremy. He had a smear of dried blood under his nose that the physician had missed. Kevin fussed and lifted the edge of hir jersey to wipe at it, making Jeremy wince. A gossamer hand Kevin was not.

Thea propped one elbow on Kevin’s shoulder and one on Jean’s. “Motherfuck,” she said eloquently. “That’s not what I expected, but I’ll take it.”

“It wasn’t a real win,” Kevin said, still scrubbing at Jeremy’s nose. As hir jersey was soaked with sweat, Jean wasn’t sure if sie was making Jeremy cleaner or dirtier. “We should call for a rematch. The rankings won’t accurately reflect the strength of the teams.”

“We already know our team is stronger,” said Thea. “And we’re also not bigoted assholes.”  
  
Jean snorted. “Caballero is still on probation.”  
  
“He’s been here longer than you.”  
  
“So?”

“Jean’s jealous of his eyebrows,” said Jeremy, plugged up from Kevin’s attentions. “Kev, babe, you must’ve got it by now.”

“I’m not jealous,” said Jean.

Thea squinted at him. “Yours _are_ kind of small.”  
  
Jean touched his eyebrows self-consciously. “My eyebrows are fine.”

“They are,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “I’m teasing you. Your eyebrows are very handsome. Hey. I know you’ve all told me not to flutter around, but is everyone okay?”

“I am after that bastard got sat on and then lost his country the game,” said Thea.

“I got to punch him,” Jean reminded Jeremy.

“After the rematch,” said Kevin, but there was an air of satisfaction in hir voice, and no lingering unease. Sie finally released Jeremy and was rewarded by Jeremy hugging hir around the middle.  
  
Jeremy glanced up at the scoreboard guiltily—that was where at least one camera was perched—and then wrapped his arms around them all. “I hope this doesn’t start another scandal and I’m _super_ sorry if it does, but shit, you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy: what’s up G-man, Bobby, Julia, my friends! How’s it going?  
> Jean: …citizens
> 
> (Ah yes, you've discovered the real reason I wrote this fic: to talk about Exy and my headcanons for its customs in different countries)
> 
> (I considered that this was too dramatic and unrealistic for a sports game but then I remembered the actual mafia)


	11. The Only Valid Hotel Breakfast Spreads Are The Ones With Free Waffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief misgendering of Kevin by someone sie isn’t out to yet

Despite the pleading of the Portuguese coach and five of the six referees—the sixth one seemed on board with it— the teams mingled and chatted until the referees were forced to call the match, 8-5 to the US Court. Jeremy and Blinov obtained between them the phone numbers of the entire Portugal Court, minus Vieyra, who did not reappear. It was impressive considering the number of times each team had punched each other in the face. To his surprise, Martim and the goalkeeper who had passed out the last four shots, Cassandra, exchanged contact information with Jean as well. They had spent most of the remaining “game” speaking with Jean about defensive strategy and then, oddly, music genres, and Jean had actually enjoyed himself.

Going out for the promised greasy food was inadvisable with the slew of press and fans (“papa _razzi,_ ” Julia called them, striking a pose) mobbing every place Exy players might be seen after what was becoming the most televised sports event that month, so Patrick phoned for delivery. The team ate together, sprawled across the hallway and invading each other’s hotel rooms. The consensus was that it had been a good show, and most of Portugal’s Court was what Patrick called “good people” and Chatterjee named “true bros.”

There was a lot of slapping Kevin, Jean, Thea, and Jeremy on the back and reliving their goals with full somatic accompaniment.Chatterjee convinced Thea to heave him into a pile of teammates in a recreation of “that sweet, sweet cross-court shot.” Louis, parked in a chair with his broken foot on ice, kept Kevin happy with an analysis of how Portugal had been going downhill in the second half anyway. Reid consumed more food than Jean had witnessed anyone put away in one sitting and then went around asking for leftovers. Blinov earned Hanson’s wrath by running up and down the staircase with Jeremy on his shoulders. Stephen and Julia distracted Jean for so long with a scathing review of the Munich Court’s interior design that the cheese had congealed on Jean’s plate by the time he remembered it. Instead of eating it, he shoved it into the side of Reid’s head, who sampled it anyway and declared it “still good, if kind of hairy.”

A bubbly kind of contentment rose to settle behind Jean’s breastbone, making bad jokes funny and wild antics entertaining rather than annoying. He even got roped into an impromptu kickline for—he wasn’t sure, exactly, but did it matter?—hanging onto Reid and Chatterjee for dear life as they careened across the checkered carpet, making Bobby Hayes holler that they’d all crack their heads open.

_This is my team,_ Jean thought, for the first time since he’d signed Court. _I’m part of this. I belong here._

He tripped and nearly fell as the kickline broke up, grabbing Thea’s shoulder to stay upright. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t see you there.”  
  
“What flattery,” said Thea, bumping him with her hip. They had been dating for—more than two months now, wow—but Jean was suddenly aware of his hand still on her shoulder, the swell of her muscle under his palm. Through her shirt her skin was hot. Jean wondered if his hands felt cold, and then, wildly, if he should blow on them to warm them up.

“Give the girl a kiss!” Blinov shouted from the floor.

“ _Lucas,_ ” Julia and Patrick hissed at the same time. Blinov looked chastised, but now half the team was watching in interest. Jean’s hand twitched on Thea’s shoulder. He could have expected this. Blinov’s established approach to teammates introducing their significant others was to demand a display kiss. Hell, he and Jeremy had kissed in front of the team, not for Blinov’s sake but because it hadn’t been worth finding privacy for a two-second peck. But Thea was not prone to public displays of affection.

“Masturbate to your own pornography, Blinov,” said Thea, showing him the finger. He laughed and flipped his feet over his head to roll towards Louis’ chair. Jean relaxed. He withdrew his hand and once it was by his side Thea clasped it once, brief but firm. _Later,_ it said.

His eyes found Kevin and then Jeremy in the crowd. Kevin was frozen; sie moved as Jean looked at hir. Jean knew Kevin felt disproportionate guilt for what Thea had been put through since the photographs. And— _So much of Kevin’s personal life has been public knowledge,_ Jean thought with a pang. Jeremy lifted his can of soda and toasted Jean with it. _Later,_ said his smile, as well. Jean swallowed.

 

The four of them were gathered in Kevin and Thea’s room and were lying across the pushed-together beds engrossed in their respective phones, idly overlapping feet and arms, when a knock came at the door. Jeremy got up, groaning, to answer it, and was met with a black-suited member of security.

“Is there trouble?” he asked, as Thea craned around Jean’s back to see. Kevin stuffed a pillow over hir head.

“There’s someone here to see you,” said the security woman. “He says he’s a cousin of Kevin’s. A Mr. Klose?”  
  
Kevin poked hir face out from under a mountain of synthetic fluff. “Nicky?”

“Should I let him up?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” said Kevin. Sie looked confused. The woman left, presumably to fetch Nicky, and Kevin put a hand to hir forehead.

“You have a cousin?” said Jeremy, coming back over to flop on the bed nest to hir. “Why didn’t I know about this?”  
  
“He’s not really my cousin,” said Kevin. Sie scratched the side of hir neck. “That’s kind of how we are, though. He was there when you came to get Jean from, uh, from South Carolina?”

“I think I remember,” said Jeremy slowly. “That was a shit long time ago, though.”  
  
“I mean he’s _my_ not-cousin,” said Kevin, defensively.

“It’s not your fault you haven’t remembered him,” said Thea. “Nicholas stopped playing Exy after college.”

Kevin made a wordless gesture of mixed disappointment and relief.

“Who,” said Jean, “the fuck is Nic—“  
  
“ _Kevin!”_

A body came barreling through the door to fling itself on Kevin’s supine form. Kevin grunted as the air was knocked out of hir. 

“You won!” the body, presumably Nicky, shouted. “ _Es war der Hammer!_ We weren’t supposed to film but I have the whole thing on my phone from the moment that guy took off his helmet—“  
  
“De Rosa.”  
  
“Yeah, him! Holy fuck but that first goal, and then it was all _four_ of you—“

“Nice to meet you again, Nicholas,” said Thea, as Nicky shrieked into Kevin’s abandoned pillow.

“‘ _Nicky,_ I’ve told you a thousand times. If you call me ‘Nicholas’ I’ll look over my shoulder for ghosts. It’s so great to see you, Thea! We don’t talk enough.” Nicky sat up and threw an arm around Thea, who, Jean was surprised to notice, hugged him back.

“Hi,” said a quiet voice from the doorway. Or perhaps it only seemed quiet, next to Nicky. Jean turned away from the scene on the bed to see a tall, blond man shaking Jeremy’s hand. “I’m Erik,” he said. “I’m Nicky’s husband. I don’t think we know each other?”

“Jeremy,” said Jeremy, shaking back. “I’ll let you come in.” He stepped against the wall to let Erik edge past him in the narrow entryway. _What the fuck,_ he mouthed at Jean. Jean spread his hands. _I have no idea._

“Hi, Erik Klose,” Erik said when he reached Jean. He didn’t so much as blink at the continued shrieking from the bed. “That was a great game out there. I’ll admit I don’t know much about Exy, but I was impressed.”  
  
“Jean Moreau,” Jean said, and he didn’t have to come up with something to say next because Nicky had bounced off the bed and grabbed both his hands.

“It’s nice to meet you under circumstances that don’t suck ass,” Nicky said. He pointed his chin at Jean’s cheek. “Those have healed well.”  
  
Jeremy sucked in an indignant breath. Jean wrested one of his hands free and wrapped his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders, rubbing gently to get him to stand down. It was all right. Nicky’s frankness was a relief, actually. “You should see the other guy,” Jean told Nicky.

Nicky laughed. He leaned over to nab Jeremy’s hand with the one Jean had released. “Kevin talks about you both a lot.”  
  
Jeremy turned red. Jean shot a look over towards Kevin, who was staunchly pretending sie hadn’t heard. Split between defending Kevin and feeling flattered sie had thought Jean notable enough to talk to hir family about, Jean continued to shake Nicky’s hand.

“ _Liebling_ ,” said Erik. His eyes were dancing. “You haven’t given them the gift, yet.”

“Oh!” Nicky kissed Erik’s cheek and then started digging through his pockets. “Where did I put it, where did I put it. Here!” he unearthed a pillbox-sized package and shoved it at Jeremy until he took it. Under Nicky’s impatient eye Jeremy unwrapped three enamel pins of the US Court logo, edged in gold.

“Kevin’s already got one,” Nicky explained, as Jeremy held one of the pins up to the light. “The street vendors put them out before a game. It’s not much.”  
  
“Thank you!” said Jeremy before Nicky could start making apologies. He gave Nicky the shy, bewildered smile he got every time somebody did something for him and fastened the pin to his shirt. Jean made a mental note to tell Kevin and Thea how Jeremy had reacted the first time Jean had brought him flowers.

It turned out that Nicky was calmer once introductions had been dealt with, though he maintained a level of energy that reminded Jean strongly of Sara Alverez. Nicky settled himself on the scratchy hotel couch between Kevin and Erik, leaving Thea to claim the desk chair, Jeremy the footstool, and Jean the corner of the mattress. Jean considered saying something about it, but contrary to hir put-upon attitude Kevin was allowing Nicky to crowd hir against the armrest and the lines in hir brow had smoothed over.  
  
Jeremy had tried to tug Kevin aside before Nicky had arranged them, but Nicky hadn’t let him. Now he was conducting an odd pantomime that involved pointing to himself, pointing to Kevin, pointing to Nicky, and raising his eyebrows. He repeated it several times to Kevin’s increasing confusion until Nicky, who had been watching sharply, asked “What kind of secrets are you keeping with our boy Kevin?”  
  
Kevin’s face tightened for half a second. Jeremy slumped. _Oh,_ thought Jean. _Right._

“Um,” said Kevin in a strangled voice. “Not a boy?”  
  
“What?” said Nicky. There was a rustle of movement as Thea and Jeremy leaned forward at the same time Jean did, stony expressions fixed on Nicky. Nicky threw up his hands. “Wait, no, get the guns un-blazing or whatever. I’m cool. I’m surprised, but I’m cool. We’ve got—“ he broke off before saying a name and patted Erik’s knee. Erik was smiling at Kevin, soft and encouraging. “We’ve got a couple of friends who are trans, which is, I know, a shit excuse, but I swear we’re cool. Hey, how do you want us to call you?” this last was directed at Kevin.

The relief Jean felt for Kevin’s sake was so palpable he couldn’t breathe. He nudged Kevin’s foot with his own and saw Kevin shudder with released nerves, tremors springing up and down hir arms. Nicky took Kevin’s hand between both of his and pressed it. 

“‘Sie’ and ‘hir,’” Kevin whispered.  
  
Nicky repeated the pronouns and so did Erik. Kevin closed hir eyes and tilted hir chin down against hir chest. Jeremy got up from the footstool and crossed to stand beside Kevin, stroking a hand through hir hair. 

“I’ll write them down for you,” said Thea.

“Thank you,” said Erik.

Nicky was absorbed with Kevin. “Have you told Andrew yet?”  
  
Andrew? _Neil’s_ Andrew? How many Andrews did Kevin know?

“No,” said Kevin, going still. Jean inched his foot over again and applied a gentle, even pressure, not nearly enough to hurt but enough to show he was there. 

“That’s okay,” said Nicky, with a gentleness Jean would not have thought the wildcat bounding through the door would have been capable of. Jean was not a trusting man, but he was glad, for a moment, that Nicky was Kevin’s…however they were related.“You don’t have to it you don’t want. And you don’t have to not, if you don’t want that either. Though,” he added, at a normal volume, “I’ll have to take you off my list. I’m _way_ too gay to fuck anybody but guys.”

As Erik responded by chuckling and kissing Nicky’s temple, Jean supposed that statement was normal and acceptable behavior. Kevin huffed, but sie leaned into Nicky for a long moment before pushing him into Erik’s lap and spreading hir legs to reclaim the couch cushion Nicky had pushed hir to the corner of. 

“How dare you,” said Nicky, sprawling obnoxiously. “And after I drove four hours to see you, through traffic! _”_

Erik seemed well pleased to have a lapful of Nicky. They were gentle with each other in a way that bespoke long affection. It was similar to the way Kevin and Thea were around each other in their own home, and to how Jean felt when he saw the little whorls Jeremy made in his oatmeal before eating it, fidgeting with the spoon as he waited for it to cool. _I want that, with all of them,_ Jean thought. It was too big a thought for the place, an impersonal hotel room in a foreign country, and too early for the time. Two months. Jean had never been good at doing things casually.

“You go camping?” Erik was saying. His accent came through stronger when he was excited. “I love camping!”

“Yes,” said Thea. “Jeremy, also.”

“There’s this great place where I grew up,” Jeremy enthused. “It’s on this tiny, hidden beach and it’s kind of rocky and the hike is fuck-ass long, but it’s _so_ worth it to watch the sunset.”  
  
“I’ve hiked mostly forests,” said Erik. “I get caught on the roots and the vines, my, ah, _Trekkingstöcke?_ But I love the pine trees. They smell so fresh.”  
  
Thea snapped her fingers. “You should try the poles I have. I’ll send you the link.”

Feeling left out, and not liking it, Jean stood and nudged Kevin to the middle of the couch so he could take hir seat on the end. Nicky expanded their conversation to admit Jean with such easy welcome that Jean found himself responding to his questions sincerely. It was past one in the morning when Nicky yawned, tapped Erik on the shoulder, and declared he would fall asleep right there if they didn’t get back to their own hotel soon.

“I’d invite you over but I know you have to rest before you fly back” said Nicky, hugging Kevin tight. “Besides, we’ve got to leave early: Mrs. Next-Door is having us feed her cats while she’s on vacation and she leaves tomorrow. Keep winning for us, kids!”  
  
“You’re German now,” said Erik. “Yet you still root for America?”  
  
“Aw, don’t be jealous.”  
  
Jeremy, not picking up on their teasing tones and unsure which side to pick for politeness, went for a tactful deflection. “It was nice to meet you, Erik. And Nicky, again!”  
  
“You too,” said Erik. Nicky bussed Thea’s cheek and shook Jeremy and Jean’s hands again, and then he and Erik were gone.

Stretching out in the same bed ( _not_ a floor) as Jeremy _and_ Thea _and_ Kevin was the most comfortable Jean had ever felt, unless that was his sore muscles talking. They pulled the covers out and spread them over both mattresses, and Jean tucked an arm under Kevin’s neck and patted at the lamp until he worked out how to turn it off. The beeping of the air conditioner was louder in the darkness.

“Good night,” said Jeremy. He shuffled around. Jean felt one of the sheets start to pull off his body. “Oops. Thee, I think I’m on your boob.”  
  
“You are,” said Thea. “Let me try to—ow—fuck—I’m in the crack, I can’t get any leverage.”

“Shut up,” Kevin grumbled.

“ _You_ shut up.”  
  
“Are we five?”  
  
“No, we’re four. Get it?”

Jean’s eyelids were getting heavy. “Go to sleep. No fighting.”  
  
“….Shakira Shakira.”

“ _Jesus._ ” 

“Jeremy!” 

“ _Jérème!_ ” 

* * *

 

Jean’s alarm went off at four in the morning. He’d forgotten to change it. He fumbled to turn it off before it could wake anyone else. In the night Kevin had shifted so sie was lying perpendicular with hir knees in Thea’s back and hir face smashed into Jean’s stomach. Jean stroked hir hair and then gently picked up hir head to lever himself out of bed. If he was up, he might as well be up.

Breakfast didn’t start until six, but there were thermoses in the lobby with hot water for tea and instant coffee. Jean poured a cup of the latter and picked an armchair by the window that faced the parking lot. Martim had recommended a band from Portugal when they’d spoken on the court, and Jean poked around Google on the hotel’s sluggish Wi-Fi until he found an upload of one of their albums. He unwound his headphones and listened to the lead singer croon about whatever it was Portuguese singers crooned about while he waited for the dining room to open.

Bobby was one of three people who wandered down in time for the first of the eggs. “Morning,” he grunted. Jean gestured the same back. Jean and Bobby were the early risers of the team, and they settled into companionable silence over the clink of Bobby’s spoon on his plate and the _tikka-tak_ from the laptop of the businesswoman by the sign directing guests to the pool and the ice machine.

At eight Jean mixed another cup of terrible coffee and carried it up to the room. True to form, Jeremy was splashing his face with water in the bathroom, dressed in one of the complimentary bathrobes. “You’re the best,” he said, when he’d flipped down his glasses and could see Jean proffering the coffee. Jean kissed him good-morning and sat down on the desk so Jeremy could lean back between his legs while he inhaled the caffeine. “How’s the shoulder?” Jeremy asked.

“Tight,” Jean admitted. Aside from the bruising, it felt like he’d pulled muscles in his neck and the left side of his chest. “How’s the nose?”  
  
“Not broken. A bit tender.” Jeremy worried the rim of his coffee cup idly between his teeth and yawned. “What time’s the flight?”  
  
“Two-thirty. There’s breakfast downstairs.”  
  
“Ooh, there’s a thought.”

At ten the extra-loud alarm Kevin brought on trips blared the opening to Beethoven’s Fifth. Kevin and Thea jolted upright with identical expressions of displeasure. After they had come to terms with the fact that the alarm wasn’t going to stop if neither of them got up, Kevin stomped to the dresser and hit the button to turn it off. Sie bent in half to prop hir elbow on the dresser and hir chin on hir fist and closed hir eyes again.

Thea fell back against the pillows and pinched her fingers towards her carry-on, groaning insistently. Kevin staggered over to the bag and stared into it, as if regretting every decision in hir life that had brought hir to this point, and then pulled out a knee brace and threw it at the bed. It bounced off of Thea’s chest.

Jean watched this all with great amusement. 

“I’ve never been the morning person in a relationship,” Jeremy said, interested. He’d resumed his position between Jean’s legs against the desk. “Though Jean, you still have me beat.”

Jean liked to see the sunrise. “I’ve got to maintain my reputation.” His breath ghosted across the nape of Jeremy’s neck, making the hairs there stand on end. Jeremy straightened and closed his hand around Jean’s thigh.

“Really?” Jean asked, smirking against Jeremy’s skin.  
  
“I was awake, but now I’m _awake,_ ” Jeremy groused. “Dammit. I’m already wearing my extra underwear.”

“So take them off,” Jean suggested, nipping at Jeremy’s ear. He smoothed a hand down Jeremy’s arm and kissed the side of his neck when Jeremy arched. Jeremy gave a full-bodied twitch and sucked in his lip. He was so responsive, first thing in the morning. 

An appreciative hum came from over by the dresser. Kevin looked much more alert now that sie had been given good reason. Jean met hir eyes and bit down lightly over Jeremy’s pulse. When Jeremy gasped Kevin’s gaze went dark with want.

“Thea, are you up or should we go?” Jeremy asked. He shifted his thighs together as Jean bit down again.Sometimes Jeremy woke up already wet. Jean wondered if that had been the case today, and felt the slow unfolding of heat that was his body responding to the idea.

“I’m very up, and I’m very on board,” said Thea, her voice dipping low. “But my knee is still fucked from the game so I can’t come over there.”

“We could wait,” said Jean. 

“When did I imply that? I meant that you should get over _here_.” 

They piled back onto the mattress, shedding clothes, and let Thea get the brace around her knee and prop her leg up on a pillow. Jean tried to help with his left arm and grimaced at the stab of pain. “ _Merde._ Is this what geriatric sex is like?”  
  
“Careful who you’re calling geriatric,” said Thea.

“If you— _mm_ ,” Jean said, for Kevin had cupped a hand over the front of his boxers. “On second thought, I apologize.” Kevin kissed him, sleep-warm, and Jean didn’t mind the taste because sie ground down at the same time. He hissed.

The bed creaked behind them. Jeremy knelt beside Thea, thumbing back and forth over one of her nipples. He saw them watching and poked the tip of his tongue through his teeth. His other hand dropped between his legs. “By all means, carry on.” 

Kevin’s breath stuttered against Jean’s cheek. Jean traced a teasing finger up the length of hir, and Kevin’s mouth opened soft and pliable around a moan. 

“You look so pretty, Kevin,” said Thea, passing a hand up Kevin’s leg to rest on hir hip. Kevin moaned again and dropped hir forehead to Jean’s good shoulder. Jeremy lifted his wet fingers away from himself, considered them, and then slid them under the waistband of Thea’s pajama shorts. Jean’s brain short-circuited.

In the end Jeremy brought Thea off while Jean and Kevin panted against each other, Jean’s fist around them both. The timing was imperfect; Jean came before he meant to, and Kevin powered through hir own post-orgasm haze to eat Jeremy out while Jean and Thea curled around him and kissed every inch of skin they could reach. Afterward Jeremy helped Thea into the bathroom while Jean propped Kevin against the wall and instructed hir sternly not to fall asleep before he got back with more coffee.

It was okay. It was wonderful. It was both better and sweeter than after the concert, which had been one of the highlights of Jean’s life.The stumbling blocks and hesitations were no matter for worry. They had, after all, plenty of time to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik: Okay, so babe, we’re in Munich but it’s the US playing Portugal  
> Nicky: yes babe keep up  
> Erik: but why don’t they play Germany in Germany and Portugal in Portugal  
> Nicky: international sports are like that, babe  
> Erik: I don’t get it  
> Nicky: it’s Exy, you’re not supposed to get it, you’re supposed to see blood. OOH right in the sucker! 
> 
> (Jean would have seen ‘Nicholas Hemmick’ on the Foxes’ lineup and at the banquets and games, but that was years ago and Riko judged Nicky low-risk and uninteresting. And Jean was super out of it for the time at Abby’s. Even for the time he was awake, he wasn’t really forming memories.)
> 
> (Nicky has SO many LGBTQA+ friends in Stuttgart. So, so many. It’s a grand old time)


	12. Epilogues Are Nothing But Excuses For The Author's Narcissism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: sexism, implied homophobia

In the morning of Jean's life he lived in a painted-brick building with a spray of mimosa bursting from the sidewalk out front. “Like you, my early flower,” his mother would say, as the gold bloomed in marzipan-candy puffs outside Jean’s window. “You arrived before the spring, announcing it. My handsome one.”  
  
His father ruffled his hair. “Go outside and play, son. I can see your legs are tired of sitting. You will have your whole life to help with the dishes, no? Go, be a boy before you get old.”  
  
They sold him.

* * *

Kevin and Thea lived on an upper floor of a high-end apartment complex, claiming the much-desired corner unit with a view facing over the downtown. Everything about the interior of the complex smelled like money. Jean cast an appreciative eye over the marble floors and vaulted ceiling of the atrium as he signed himself in. He and Jeremy had visited a handful of times by now, and the tasteful elegance was a balm from the hectic, greasy mess of the city streets. He had tried to convince Jeremy to live in a place like this, but Jeremy had blanched at the price point and insisted upon a smaller apartment in a homier neighborhood. More was the pity. Though Jean was becoming used to the fruits grocer knowing his order, and the crossing guard for the local school waving at him when he crossed the street.

(Both Renee and Neil had vetted the apartment for security, and after a few changes facilitated by Jean’s still-considerable disposable income, had given their approval. That had always been the only truly important thing.)

It took Thea a while to come to the door when Jean knocked. He spent the time judging pictures of Renee and Allison’s two dogs for their Instagram account (why Renee wanted Jean’s input, he never knew) and gave a thumbs-up to Laila’s new Exy-helmet-patterned hijab and to the video she’d uploaded of Alverez wearing her entire goalkeeper’s kit backwards and scooting across the court. He was three videos deep in the ongoing saga when the door finally opened.

“Jean, good morning,” said Thea. She’d only opened the door a crack, not enough for him to see her. The chain still hung across the space. 

Not the welcome Jean had been expecting. “I told you we were coming at eight. Jeremy got held up finishing the laundry, but I did sign in.”  
  
There was a long pause. “I thought that was a joke.”  
  
“Clearly not,” said Jean, getting annoyed. “We can come back later if you’re not prepared.” He’d ridden the train all the way here because his car was getting serviced and he’d felt like being nice to Jeremy and leaving him his convertible _._ Public transportation was only a step better than public bathrooms.

“No, that’s all right,” said Thea. Jean had time to wonder at the hesitance in her voice before Thea was unhitching the chain and pulling the door the rest of the way open. The sight that greeted him made him double-take.

“Don’t say anything,” Thea said fiercely. She wrapped her arms around herself. From shoulder to heel she was dressed in matching, pineapple-printed cotton pajamas. The tank top sported a particularly obnoxious sunglass-wearing pineapple that was the exact same shade yellow as her sleeping cap. She hadn’t put her contacts in yet, and the green frames of her glasses clashed horribly with it all. Jean made his face as blank as possible.

“ _Bonjour,_ ” he said.

“Fuck you,” said Thea. She stood back and waved him inside. If Jean hadn’t readied himself for Thea, he might have reacted to the mess spread over what he had only previously seen as a spotless apartment. There were dishes in the sink; tupperware lined up on the shelf-table in preparation for the week’s lunches; books and papers piled high on the low-backed sofa, which looked as if it hadn’t been sat in since his and Jeremy’s last visit; and everywhere Exy equipment, spare gloves and pads and practice racquets cluttering every available square inch. The aloe plant needed watering. Wasn’t aloe a desert plant?

A booming voice Jean recognized as Kevin’s started up from the direction of the bathroom. Jean turned to look and saw a pair of pajama pants matching Thea’s hanging forlornly from the handle.

_“I’m ‘enery the eighth I am, ‘enery the eighth I am, I am—_ “

“Kevin?” Thea called. “Jean’s here.”  
  
“Fuck!” The shower shut off and Kevin stumbled out into the hallway, clutching a towel around hir waist. From the suds tangled up in hir hair and trickling in rivulets down hir chest, Kevin had been in the middle of a shampoo rinse.

Jean was torn between looking at the flustered panic on Kevin’s face or the water collecting in Kevin’s abs. He settled on the face, but only because he figured somebody in the room needed to retain a modicum of dignity. “Why are you shampooing before practice? You’ll get sweaty.”

“I’m filming a commercial,” said Kevin, grimacing. “It’s a waste of time spent better on the court, but it’s worth a lot of money.” Jean nodded. He had no delusions about how the Ichirou would respond if Kevin, or Jean, or Neil turned down an offer that would translate handsomely to Moriyama bank accounts. 

“Get back in the shower before you drip over the whole apartment,” Thea told hir. Kevin wrinkled hir nose but obeyed. “If you’re determined, you can start putting the Exy things in the bins by the door,” Thea said to Jean. She opened the fridge and ripped open a packet of turkey slices. “I’ll join you after I get these organized.”

“Is there an order to how the bins are set up?”  
  
“Helmets and gloves, shoulder and chest, shoes, other armor, everything else, and sticks in the holder,” said Thea, pointing. “Jean. I would have let you in sooner. I really did think it was a joke _._ ”

“I’m offended you thought we would back out of a promise,” Jean said as Kevin began singing again. Jean crossed the kitchen and swooped in to kiss Thea on the cheek. “Should I tell Jeremy to pick up a pineapple on the way?”  
  
Thea stuffed a slice of turkey in Jean’s mouth to shut him up.

* * *

When Jean was seventeen he lived in a place that was dark, and was also painted black. He bled, and he screamed, but none of it made any difference. He was too tired to cry.  
  
It was not hatred. Hatred implied autonomy.

* * *

The team had a short lunch today, and when that happened they usually ate together, in the first couple rows of seats outside the inner court. Jean dug his lunchbox out of his bag and opened it to find a turkey sandwich and assorted vegetables instead of the thermos of pasta he had packed.

“You helped us clean, I packed you lunch,” Thea said, when Jeremy held his own sandwich up towards her in silent question. “The ones you brought are in our fridge. The’ll still be good tomorrow.”

“Thank you _,_ ” said Jean, recovering from his surprise. He took a bite of the sandwich. It was very tasty. Jeremy kissed his own knuckles and then bumped them against Thea’s arm, grinning. Thea cleared her throat and looked away.

She had brought a food for Kevin, too, which was fortunate as sie showed up five minutes into lunch. Kevin thanked her and collapsed into a seat beside Jeremy.

“Looking snazzy,” Jeremy said.

Kevin grunted and snapped one of hir polka-dot suspenders. “They wanted the pants to be checkered.”

Jean shuddered. “No.”

“Yeah. I refused.”

They were nearly finished updating Kevin on what had transpired at morning practice, with additional input from Julia, Blinov, and Patrick, when Hanson appeared around the corner of the inner court and prowled up to them. 

“That’s probably bad news,” said Jeremy in an undertone.

“You four.” Hanson pointed to Kevin, Jean, Thea, and Jeremy, as if there had been any uncertainty. His expression was stony. “I warned you this would happen, and you chose not to take it seriously. You will sit apart from each other starting now.”

“What?” said Kevin.

“Andrew Minyard, Day. Don’t act like you don’t know.”  
  
“What?”

Kamal appeared on Hanson’s heels, panting. “I’d meant to wait until afternoon practice, but I suppose we’re doing this now. Thanks for telling everybody the good news! Okay, team,” he said, and the few who hadn’t been listening in turned to face him. Kamal held up a sheet of paper. “I’ve got names of the new members who’ll be joining us this winter. They’re backliner Ari Watts and defensive dealer Allison Reynolds.”

A speculative hum sprang up, statistics and personalities based on interviews. Reid and Chatterjee started a modest round of applause. Kevin stood up, senseless of the noise. “Not Andrew?”  


“He gave us a polite refusal.”  
  
Jean doubted Andrew Minyard had done anything polite in his entire life.  
  
“ _What?”_

“It seems he believed the rumors,” Hanson said tersely. “This is exactly what I told you all would happen, this entire summer. Now we’ve lost a decent goalkeeper for that female dealer.”

Kevin swore and yanked hir phone out of hir pocket, dialing. Julia cocked her head to the side and tapped one of her hearing aids. “I must have forgot to turn these on,” she said loudly. “What was that you said, Coach?”

“Andrew, don’t tell me you did what Hanson is telling me,” said Kevin. Sie took the phone away from hir ear, glared at it, and hit the button for redial. “Andrew—“

“Because I know you didn’t say something I’d have to report to PR regarding the pending inquiry into your unprofessional sexism,” Julia was saying.

“Andrew _don’t hang up again—Andrew!”_

“Goldstein, I will pull you from the court.”

“Will you?” asked Thea.

“ _We will discuss this later!_ ” Kamal barked. He seized Hanson around the shoulders and shoved him towards the offices. Thankfully, he went. Kamal looked around at the nineteen angry looks pointed his way and threw up his hands. “Minyard’s refusal had nothing to do with the decision to sign Reynolds. They don’t even play the same position. O’Donnell, my office after practice. We need to talk about what this means for you.” He stalked after Hanson.

Kevin was on hir fourth redial. Jean reached into his bag. Neil picked up after the first ring.

“I know,” Neil said, before Jean could speak. He sounded as frustrated as Jean felt. “I’ve talked to him. He doesn’t want to.”

“Make him change his mind,” said Jean.

“Make Kevin stop being angry.”  
  
Jean clutched his phone tighter. Crumbs from the sandwich roll were stuck to the screen, and they itched his skin. “It doesn’t work like that.”  
  
“Exactly.” Neil sighed. “I’ve been over it with him a thousand times. He won’t. Hold up.” His voice went muffled, like he’d turned to speak over his shoulder. “It’s Jean. He’s there. I told you Kevin would be pissed. Oh? If you don’t care, why did you sit for the interview? Andrew—“ Neil broke off into a language that sounded like the one Blinov used when he quoted his _babushka_. Whatever Andrew’s response was, it made Neil walk away from the phone. As Jean waited for him to come back he watched Kevin dial again. Andrew had progressed to letting the line ring without picking up.

“Jean,” said Neil. He sounded breathless and happy. Jean gave up.“Andrew says he won’t sign. If you want to know more, ask him yourself.”

Thea was deep in discussion with Julia. Jeremy was looking back and forth between Jean and Kevin, indecision painful on his face. Kevin had abandoned argument in favor of screaming Andrew’s name into hir phone.

A headache was pounding heavily against Jean’s temples. He mimed popping a pill at Jeremy. Glad to have a direction, Jeremy grabbed his bottle of Aleve and shook two into Jean’s palm. He mouthed a thank-you at Jeremy and swallowed the pills dry.

“Andrew just threw his phone down the toilet,” Neil said in Jean’s ear. “He says tell Kevin to fuck off.”

“He flushed the phone,” Jean said to Kevin.

Kevin tried to shove hir own phone back into hir pocket and missed because hir hands were shaking in anger. Jeremy plucked it away and tucked it into his own bag. “Give me Neil,” said Kevin. Jean handed hir the call.

“Neil, make him sign,” said Kevin. From the clench of hir jaw, Neil had given hir the same answer he’d given Jean. “That’s too bad. This isn’t—I know, I said that, but that was—this is different, this is _Court._ ” Kevin twisted one of hir suspenders so hard Jean worried it would snap. “I know. I know! Just—just promise me when Court offers for you—good. Keep it that way. Neil, don’t—“ Kevin took the phone away from hir ear and stared at it. From where he was sitting, Jean could see the “call ended” screen flashing. 

“That blows,” said Blinov.

Kevin reared back, aiming not for Blinov but for the wall of the inner court. Thea realized at the same time Jean did that Kevin wasn’t wearing armor, but Jeremy got there first. He seized Kevin around the forearm and dragged hir fist back. 

_“Not your hand again,_ ” Jeremy snapped. As Kevin went pale Jeremy grabbed his own left glove from his seat and stuffed it down over Kevin’s hand. It was too small, but Jeremy forced enough of it on that he could almost fasten the strap around the wrist. “There. Go wild.”

Instead, Kevin stared down at Jeremy’s glove on hir hand, flexing hir fingers. Sie reached out, took a fistful of Jeremy’s jersey, and kissed him roughly on the mouth. It went on for quite a while. When Kevin pulled back sie dragged hir lips over the back of hir bare hand, curled it into a fist, and twisted it back and forth in Thea’s direction. Then sie was gone, in the direction of the locker rooms.

Jean looked to Thea for an explanation.

“Angry, going to beat up a punching bag, back soon,” Thea translated, raising a fist and imitating Kevin’s last gesture. 

Jeremy had sagged into the seat where Kevin had dropped him. His fingertips hovered over his mouth. “Well, as far as coping mechanisms go, I can live with that one?”

“Never a dull moment in Fort Exy,” said Julia wisely, and stole one of Blinov’s baby carrots.

* * *

It was cool enough for Jeremy to wear a sweatshirt, which meant it was pleasant weather for the rest of them. They teased him about it and he joined in with good humor. The sweatshirt was in the Court colors, but Jeremy had to roll the sleeves back several times to find his hands. Jean was not sure which of the rest of them it belonged to. It didn’t matter.

At Jeremy’s insistence they stopped by the park as the sky started up its twice-daily exercise in color, squashing themselves into a bench not meant for four people. They were probably giving the PR team a collective outbreak of hives. None of them cared. The other people in the park were absorbed with walking their dogs or taming their children, and besides, they kept it chaste, all bumping shoulders and feet side-by-side. It was not conspicuous. It had none of that insecurity. It was easy. Comfortable. What had happened in Germany had eased the tension in all of them, and Kevin and Thea most strongly.   
  
They knew they were not alone.

Thea and Jeremy dropped deep into discussion about political influence in sports marketing while Kevin and Jean silently pointed out different breeds of dog to each other, content to let the conversation pass over them. Jean tugged at the collar of his shirt to keep it from digging into his neck and watched as the pastel sky deepened to true-red and citrus orange, washing the leaves of the trees in a premonition of the change to come.   
  
Kevin’s hand was a weight on his arm. “Problems?”  
  
Jean frowned and realized he had already been doing so. “No,” he said. “I just….”  
  
He was here with them at the beginning of autumn, on a park bench with the sunset waxing. There were no words to describe his nascent thoughts in any of the languages he knew, but he opened his mouth anyway.  
  
“I wonder if my parents loved each other,” he said.  
  
The adjacent rousing condemnation of Fortune’s 500 stuttered and fell apart. Kevin’s grip tightened.  
  
“I thought they did,” said Jean, tipping his head back to follow the sheer-sided climb of the skyscrapers. “They smiled at each other and they kissed at the dinner table. But I thought they loved _me_. My mother was pregnant, I’ve never said. She was convinced it would be a girl, a younger sister. I never got to find out. I wonder if that was why…”  
  
He smoothed his crooked fingers over his knee, the scars twisting white lines across the skin.  
  
“Jean,” said Thea.  
  
Jean shook his head. This was not what he had set out to express. He returned his thoughts to the three of them. Jeremy with his stubbornness and his heart big enough to cradle the whole world, Kevin with hir courage and the single-minded focus Jean had once envied but now understood, Thea with her elegance and the tenacity that gave no quarter except what was earned.

One he knew he loved. One he had never stopped loving. One he thought, _maybe._

More than maybe.

“I think,” Jean said. He flexed his hand, once broken, now healed. “I think I—“

He needed to look at them for this, so he did. The words dried in his throat.

There were times when it was all right to be nervous.

Jeremy reached across Thea and Kevin’s laps to squeeze Jean’s wrist, and Thea touched Jeremy's elbow, helping. Kevin dipped to press hir forehead into Jean’s shoulder, one-two-three, before coming back up.  
  
“When we get behind closed doors I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe,” sie said, quiet as certainty.

“Yes,” said Thea. She patted Jeremy’s arm. “For now Jeremy will have to kiss you for all of us. Provided he’s willing.”  
  
“Always,” said Jeremy. He came around to stand in front of Jean and cradled his face, taller than Jean while Jean was sitting. Jeremy liked that.  
  
He kissed like end-of-summer wind, wistful and joyous. He kissed like amber clouds, heart-stopping before the horizon, slipping towards the promise of gentle night. He kissed like sugar in the bottom of a cup of coffee, a sweetness unexpected and yet familiar. He kissed entirely like Jeremy Knox, yet Jean tasted all of them from his mouth.

* * *

Jean lived in West Virginia, and he played for the US Court. He wore tailored shirts and went on dinner dates that ended in laughter and thrice-linked elbows. He made choices, and sometimes they turned out well.  
  
He was loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin, slurping week-old leftover soup from a tupperware container as sie tries to figure out how to work a Swiffer: Listen. Thea. We can’t let them know we live like this. T h e a
> 
> Thea, spreading out the vision board of minimalist norwegian apartment design clippings she’s been working frantically on for the past three nights instead of sleeping: I’m already on it. Do you think we should put a fountain in the bathroom or is that too much?
> 
>  (The conversation with Andrew that Neil went off-call for was Andrew admitting he was waiting to sign Court for Neil to be asked as well)
> 
> And that's a wrap! God, this was a fucking blast. If you've read this far, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love these fuckers.
> 
> Random relevant fic backstory bits to explain some shit:
> 
> 1) After the Ravens’ scandal and subsequent investigation, the US National Team was overhauled, given new coaches (though Tesuji managed to sneak in a head coach under his own employ), and—drawing from that Kathy Ferdinand show where Kevin said sie and Riko were stressed from playing on multiple teams—players were strongly encouraged to only sign the Court. Court practices, being at Evermore and still strongly smelling of Tetsuji’s influence given his founding role in the sport, became monitored and added new focus on team-building. 
> 
> 2) Coach Hanson was fired after his investigation (I wish that feminism could have won the day, but sadly various team political connections and Allison’s money did a lot) and Coach Kinzie (from Nora’s EC) was hired to take his place.
> 
> 3) The Nest was not officially reinstated, but Ravens being Ravens, that didn’t stop them. After the brouhaha had eased a bit they started utilizing it again.
> 
> 4) I stole hijabi Laila from the wonderful flybbfly fic [playing on](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301118/chapters/30441318), and that's how I've pictured Laila ever since. The fic is JereJean and has a lot of Trojan bonding and Jean and Jeremy pining, check it out!


End file.
